I started counting when I was seventeen
I have not stopped once since then, or in between
I’m at a number so high
It makes my mother cry
Especially when I say it out loud
And it’s time for a new number to float off my cloud
You may have noticed that I’m writing this
If I’m always counting, something must be amiss
Well, I can write and count at the same time
Whether in prose or rhyme
If I could stop counting, I surely would
But that wouldn’t do me any good
I can still remember the number one
Going from one to two seemed like so much fun
If only I had stopped right there.
But three was such a temptation, I didn’t care.
The rest is history
My compulsion is a mystery
Maybe some day I’ll try subtraction
Or play in my head with an improper fraction