The Poet

One day I took out my paper and pen
From under lock and key;
Sat at my desk and said to myself
A poet I shall be!

Twas a grand thing, I thought,
To be able to write in rhyme;
But alas, not one line could I write
As the clock continued its chime!

I sat and wondered what to do,
And how to get on with my task;
But for ages I sat, to little avail
My face a puzzled mask!

I thought of the poets of yesteryear,
And read all their poems by heart;
It took a fair while for this arduous task,
But I thought it would get me a start!

No matter what I did, it wasn't enough,
I couldn't manage even a single rhyme;
All I did was draw doodles on the page
And waste a whole lot of time!

I realized then how difficult it was,
To be able to write just a line;
And ruefully thought to myself,
A poet's job can't be mine!