Tis the day after Christmas, and all through the blog,
The cursors blink quietly; the writers’ve had too much eggnog.
The word counts are stagnant, the posts left undone,
For the world offers distractions, so many, pick one!
There’s Thanksgiving and Christmas and Hannukah, oh my.
There’s Kwanzaa and New Year’s and, uh… Fruit Cake Toss Day, why try?
How could I write through all this disturbance?
I wouldn’t get more than one pathetic-ass sentence.
My fraud is exposed. I know I’m a dreamer.
And somehow I left the party with this Moo Cow Creamer.
A cow (who picked this?) seems complacent and common
But suddenly I realize this is something to think on.
When I look at the page, blank as new-fallen snow,
I can’t help but remember what all writers know:
Like a cow turns grass to milk overnight,
It’s another strange alchemy, but… writers write.
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