I cannot write; not here, not there.
I cannot write most anywhere.
Would I? Could I? In a car?
I cannot, cannot in a car;
Not even in my corner bar.
Would I? Could I? On a train?
I cannot, cannot on a train;
Nor like Hemingway in Spain.
I cannot write.
I am not Seuss,
Beatrix Potter, or Mother Goose.
I cannot write.
I’m feeling blue.
Alas, this verse will have to do!
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“Sometimes I write just for fun, but still dream of collecting my drabble in a book.” – the writer