I need to write a poem for today,
And, frankly, I can’t really spare the time.
It’s not like I have very much to say,
Much less a thing I’d want to set in rhyme.
I thought I might find something in the news,
But all I’ve read today portends of doom,
Suffice to say, The Times is not my muse,
I’ll not apply a metre to their gloom.
Though lack of time and subject hold me back,
I loathe to skip a day and break my stride.
The sonnet’s simple form will be my track
And on this rail my metaphor will ride.
As I have nothing better to bestow,
I’ll write about my writer’s block and go.