I so want to write, but try as I might, <br />the words don’t come, this mind’s an empty drum. <br /> <br />Cells remain shut tight, ideas just won’t bite. <br /> <br />Brain’s full of bunkum, notions are struck dumb. <br /> <br />It’s an terrible plight, because the more you fight, <br />the less you succumb. <br />Not a single crumb will see the light. <br />I’m not sure why, quite! <br /> <br />But I’m feeling glum, I’m hitting a problem. <br /> <br />Can’t my wits be bright. My thoughts should unite <br />in my futile cranium, and that is saying some. <br /> <br />I so want to write, but the page stays white. <br /> <br />New poems ought to blossom, in a state of equilibrium. <br />But try as I might, somehow, my words seem to have taken flight. <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />© Ernestine Northover<br /><br />Ernestine Northover<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-page-stays-white/
