Nothing Poem
I’ve written thousands
of poems.
Surely, I can write one
more
But nothing. Time for
breakfast.
Maybe my sausage and
eggs
Will prod me to
inspiration
And magic will flow.
Or the crunch of cereal
Will trigger a memory,
Grist for the perfect
poem.
Or the wheat bread
toasted
To a golden brown—Melted
butter
Will ooze out some ideas
Perhaps the smell of
yogurt
And fresh berries urge
me on
And the poem will flow.
You just never know
When that poetic muse
Will come tripping by.
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