Oh woe! Poor brain, you won't produce a thought
And Monday's Potluck deadline time is nigh
My efforts thus have sadly come to naught
I stare at the computer screen and sigh.
It leaves me uninspired, lacking muse
And tho' I always rally to the cause
I fear this time I may have to refuse!
Oh me! Where hast thou gone poetic pride?
Oh fie! My hand will not produce one line!
My heart such sadness it cannot abide
I feel I must console my soul with wine.
The mind it must be free for Art to reign
And rules and regs and laws serve to constrain!
submitted for Poetry Potluck Week 19