And though the world is coming ‘round,
This old heart says I’ve sinned…
Sit here breaking no new ground,
I’m only breaking wind,
But, in the grand tradition,
I burn the midnight lamp,
And sit here, poised with pen in hand:
An imperious knight,
With a serious Writer’s Cramp…
Words that do not flow, but mock
And add to all my fears…
How then shall I tame this block
And tackle all this passing of the years?
Forsaken by the living and
Mistaken for a rock,
I sit here, poised with pen in hand,
And a serious, mysterious Writer’s Block…
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