Something To Do

It’s not easy to write when you’ve nothing to say

I pretty much face this dilemma each day

But as problems go, it’s not so big

There’s larger worries for a slaughter bound pig

Or the grass that’s brown from no rain for a week

Or the alcoholic who’s reached their peak

So writing something, a prose or two

Is just filling my time with something to do

So over and out, this poem I’ll end

Instead I’ll find something to break and then mend.

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