Sometimes I am filled with thoughts and ideas for writing, and yet, there are times when I am feeling a loss for words, this is a poem about writer’s block.
My muse and I played
we watched the clouds drift upon my imagination
we danced in fields of clover
and sang with the swallows
She often hid among the tall grasses
peeking out to shed some light through the clouds
and time to time, she would run
but always came back
Today I have not see her
I wonder if she dances alone
as I sing the blue jays song…
I know she is out there…
but does she think of me
as I think of her?
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