Better Out Than In

I woke up around 1.30am, with a distinct awareness that my feet were cold. Maybe they'd tried to escape the duvet. Who knows? Anyhow, there I was , more awake than I should have been. My brain clicked into gear and before I knew it, I'd composed a couple of verses all about twin-tubs and twins that seemed rather fetching at that hour. For a fleeting moment, I contemplated finding a pen and paper, but the effort was too great. Come the morning, and I sat here expectantly, waiting for the poem to resurface and - Nada- Nowt- Nothing.
Then a string of words came to me... 'There's a Gurgler in my sink.' They chose me - I didn't choose them, but here is the result. Sorry.

A Plughole Poem

There's a Gurgler in my sink
and I think he wants a drink.
When I slowly shift the plug,
that is when he starts to glug
as the water's rushing down;
I do hope that he won't drown.
It can't be very nice to swallow
soapy water from a hollow
gushing, pipe so dark and gloomy
in the sink of my bathroomy.