This is nothing
But a lame excuse
But blame this week’s stupor
On my difficult muse
Whatever I tried
My muse did refuse
To offer anything that
Might remotely amuse

Here it is, Sunday night
And my poem is really bad
Considering my standards
This is truly sad!
Maybe these next few days
My muse will turn to glad
And what I end up writing
Will somehow turn out rad

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