ntp

Tis one of those days, I suppose

When inspiration stays its hand

When creativity seems to have departed

Vacationing in some far off land

Though ideas bubble past racing thoughts

They come out lackluster and dull

Like mixing bread with a wooden spoon

That _thunks_ helplessly against the bowl

Would that I could tear open my head

And let the thoughts onto paper fall

What poetic brilliance I would create

Without having to write anything at all