And though this 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
With miles to go before I reach
The city of my dreams
Where poets walk the streets and each
Writes poetry by the ream
But in the corner where I stand
The ticking of the clock
Reminds me, poised with pen in hand
Of a serious, mysterious Writer's Block
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