I sit at my desk all alone,
Trying to think what to write.
An epic tale of war and love,
Or perhaps a moonlit night.
But still I don't know what to put down
My ideas have long come to close
My options are dry, they're old and worn,
I'm drowning in worthless woes
But when, I look down to my page
The words are forming in rhyme
My poem is done, it's finished and bright
And it's perfect, line for line!