There comes a time
In every poet’s life
Where they draw blanks
They don’t know what to write
It’s like a blank space
I may type something
But then I erase
I feel uninspired
Have I lost touch?
Has my art finally expired?
I jot down another rhyme
Something to pass the time
Then I lose my mind
To be an artist you must
Be patient
You must be kind
The words will come
Don’t lose hope
