Tabula Rasa

I got my pen and paper after a quizzical ride I tried to squeeze my mind and set some work aside But nothing, nothing really effuses Not a single word fluidly oozes Weary as I slept not in yesternight Rummaging o'er jungles of paper stretched so tight Yet my passions surge and desires rise To yield the crops of thought before sunrise And greet the day of parched land dry Awful! Not a single word chimes a try Now the quill and ink are dead, but the poet seems alive In a last ditch of efforts, fecundity of thought tries to revive So that once again, immortal words ultimately say The most beautiful thoughts from within my heart lay.