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.
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