Last One

As April leaves and May comes into sight,

I pause to breathe a sigh of great relief;

This poem is the last I need to write

And so, I think I’ll keep my writing brief.

A lack of inspiration holds me back,

I have no motivation to begin.

A stimulus, a muse is what I lack:

No strong emotion bursts out from within.

But still, the thought of finishing this chore

May spur me on and help me to create

One final ode, so I need fret no more,

And then my writer’s block will soon abate.

This will soon be done now that I’m on it

As it’s just another bloody sonnet.

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