The pale, blank page lies stiffly there
wishing waiting weren't such a bore.
The pen is frozen in mid-air.
Unwritten and untouched, the paper glares.
"Just write something!" she rightfully roars,
as she lies stiffly there.
The silent pen hovers over his lady fair
as she begins to think this a war.
Still the pen is frozen in mid-air.
Her patience not taking care
to appeal to his inner core
she no longer wishes to lie stiffly there.
The paper falls and rests on a chair,
not certain now what she did it for,
because the pen is still frozen in mid-air.
Defeated and alone in her new lair,
she wishes she hadn't wanted more.
So the pale, blank page lies stiffly there,
while the pen is frozen in mid-air.