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.

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