The paper lays flat before me,
my pen is primed;
but, what to write?
Something trite!?
Something rhymed?
What is this thing called ‘poetry?’
Why am I here?
What is my purpose?
Whose idea was this?
If I write, and miss,
and it turns out prose,
will you start to jeer?
But, at least I can say
that I tried to write a poem
today.
