Writers Block

When a poets feeling low, and the lines just will not flow, and you,re staring out the window at the view. When you've tried until you've cried and your brain is nearly fried, yet the page is staring blankly back at you. And your pencils all a-bitten in despair at whats not written then you send a silent prayer up to the skies. And you,re inventing words like dor,inges, cos nothing rhymes with oranges, and the strain brings on a pain behind your eyes. Then you curse your education with pure exasperation and you,re drowning in a reservoir of doubt. But as you,re going under, the dam it bursts asunder with a joy that makes you want to scream and shout. To the subject you are warming, the rhyming couplets forming, the metaphors are standing in a queue. The stanzas come at last, the storm of doubt has passed. The Bard himself could learn a thing or two!