By Zeenat Iqbal Hussain

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.