Write a four line poem about something that is: impending.
I would not recommend working an eight and a half hour shift, the vast majority of which is spent interacting with people, on four hours of sleep. It was doable, obviously, and everything went fine.
But I still would not recommend it.
On the plus side, once I get through my Monday evening shift I don't have to work again until next Saturday. I am ready for the break.
Storm painted horizon,
Redder than a desert dune.
Watchers on the wall know:
Vengeance will be coming soon.