It isn’t going to write itself --
and apparently neither am I
(I left it alone, by itself, all day
and it didn’t even try! )
I told it April’s hanging on
another day or three.
(It doesn’t seem to care a bit,
as you can plainly see)
It has no true ambition –
and its rhyme is rather poor.
It doesn’t really seem to care
just what’s a meta- for.
Poetic license has expired --
(it never paid its dues)
It’s obvious to me
it’s been abandoned by the muse!
The problem is: it wants my help
but my mind’s in disarray
(It’s probably that glass -- or two --
of lovely Cabernet)
The trouble is… this poem
needs a total redesign
but, frankly, I don’t give a damn
and therefore, I decline
Now, you can call me Scarlet
(yes, O’Hara) – that’s ok
‘cause after all, tomorrow
(really!) is another day
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