I thought I would write a poem today
but could not think of a thing to say.
I'd write a poem as sure as fate
if I could just concentrate.
So varied the topics that fill my mind
but nothing tangible I find.
Just take the weather for example
what's written about it seems quite ample.
The subject of love clutters so much stuff
In my opinion, there's more than enough.
The changes in seasons are always here
but they're always the same, year after year.
Or, one could write about sunshine or shore
but that's been done so much before.
OH! Well, I may as well go to bed
as try to bother my befuddled head.
For there's one thing I now plainly see
It's just not my day to write poetry!