'Your brain is dead!' said the imp in my head.

'Pshaw!' scoffed I with bravery sly.

'You can't fool me. I don't agree.

Maybe muddled – with heat befuddled

But keen to chat at the drop of a hat.

So there!'

 

And it laughed, the imp, and said, 'I'll get you.

Line me some lines, strong and true.'

So I got right up to make a brew

To brush my hair with thoughts askew

And here they are, from this heat wave stew!

So there!