Clean, pure and white
Like fresh fallen snow
With no flaw in sight
I hesitate to sow
The first seed of thought
That comes to my mind
For fear what I plot
Might put me in a bind
I don't wish to mar
This paper's sweet blankness
With marks black as tar
That may end up thankless
And so I sit and stare
Wishing for inspiration
My paper remains bare
Much to my consternation