Melodramatic

Ah, inkless pen. Must we be here

yet again? My paper

feels so empty that time might blow

this whim far and away.

For these trials of heart and soul

do weigh so heavy. Please!

I beg you, pity the stress felt

in these aching bones. No,

no, I cannot go on. To write

and, please, to dance with trees?

Well, no matter! As you can see,

my talent certainly

has gone and fled. No more writing.

Ah, no more words, indeed.

Lie as you will. I know you

will speak once again, you Fool.