In My Cabin


My dark cabin, up in Maine
I have come to stay again
To show my joy and pain
I traveled here through night and day
With promises to try and stay
And not to fly away
I sit myself upon my chair
And will myself to think and care
To find my pain, and share
But as I sit, my pencil poised
I cannot think of any joys
But rather slump, annoyed
Despite my endless will to write
Ideas turn cold without a fight
And
Now
My will to write is all but gone
As time goes by I slouch and yawn
I sleep until the brink of dawn
And as I wake, upon my cot
I realized that I am not
At all the writer that I ought
Sorry folks, its all I got.

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