Writer’s Block

I always thought when I grew old,
I’d be a wise old dame
Instead I lose things all the time,
And can’t remember names
I tried to write a book once,
The story of my life
But all my friends complained and said,
“If you do that, you’ll be in strife
We’ll sue, and cause a huge to-do,
We’ll tell the press about ‘you-know-who!’
You’d better think of something other,
Or we’ll tell all, and break your cover!”

And so I thought I’d write reviews,
And sell them to The Evening News
I might try that, now that I’m old,
And fairly useless, so I’m told

But then…
I thought I’d write a riveting blog,
I’d make my fortune on my tod
Yes! – I’d go to Spain – and buy a dog!
From there I’d write a Top 10 novel
While starving in a Bohemian hovel –
Garrets, I hear, are hard to find
And candlelight can turn you blind.

I know I’m a writer, in my heart,
if only I could make a start
I dream and plan and drink more tea,
But then I find I’m all at sea
I sharpen pencils, buy more pens,
I go outside to feed the hens
I type some lines and eat some cake,
By then of course it’s getting late –
I check to see the cat’s been fed,
Turn off the light,
And go to bed.

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