I don’t think I can take

Writing another poem

There’s only so many I can make

They’re so bad, I can’t show ‘em

My mind never races fast

My frustrated meter has been surpassed

Because when I write poetry

The words don’t seem to flow… etry?

Yeah, I know that was bad

My ideas have dried up

And that makes me mad

I have no inkling of an idea

Of what’s going on

You know, this poetry stuff is tough to defeat

Please help me John Keats