A Rum Deal

A Poet can get very Glum And she starts to think it's rather Rum When she would like to write A poem that would delight Everyone. Her brain, if it's still there, Has gone on strike Or don't care About the Poet, who holds the pen Who feels she'll never write again Beware, Of brain that has had enough Of the challenge of this rhyming stuff Moon in June and Morn and Dawn Fills some accomplished poet's brains with scorn Yawn. My brain is going senile, My pen does not know what to do, meanwhile Maybe if I had a new pen My brain would start to tick again Fragile Fragile and needs a rest The brain is too tired to give its best I may take a sip of Nelson's blood Which will I hope cause a flood Of Poems so exquisite My brain will revisit And meet the test.