Dreams are Like a Sponge a Day,
brain Collects along the Way.
All squeezed Out some would Think,
most Times just Left in the Sink.
Sponge at Night sure Drains out Slow,
bit Buy bit the Crud does Flow.
Waking comes Without a Doubt,
though the Sponge is Not drained Out.
New and Old the Crud builds Up,
runneth Over does my Cup.
To this Fact I’d have a Say,
wish Use once Then throw Away.