While jogging I tripped over lace,
Next time tied my shoes with grace,
I sang out of tune at the dinner,
Practice, well almost made me a crooner,
I fell when somebody pulled the chair away
Brushed my right hand, to my Utter dismay,
It was my turn, I said
Tit for tat,
And hurt to my content,
The guilty brat,
In the run with,
Trail and error
I have grown to be
A lot wiser.
ZEENAT IQBAL HAKIMJEE