• conrad_nn 45w

    When faced with the writer's block,
    I look at my wrist clock
    And it's almost time for the knock
    It's the hour for the crow of the cock.
    Seems I've been deserted of my luck
    I can't find the keys to my muse's lock.

    If the sun melts the morning dew,
    And my inspiration hasn't been washed anew,
    I feel bad for not paying my dues,
    I feel sad for letting you down, my crew.
    So I take a paper and scribble words; a few.
    Because I do this for me, and I do this for you.