The tree is down and the glitter is gone,
The house is quiet and still;
It’s cold outside, and there’s work to be done—
But somehow I haven’t the will.
The page on my screen is pristine white
And waiting for words to appear,
But nothing I think of can inspire my mind—
It’s ever so hopeless, I fear.
I never make any New Year’s resolutions
I know they would only be broken;
The words I need will surely arrive
As soon as my Muse has awoken.
So here I sit and wait for that flash,
That moment of pure inspiration;
I’ll throw myself back into my work
And sneer at this New Year’s stagnation.
Writing, they say, is blood, sweat, and tears,
And I know I have to get to it;
So I pound at my keyboard and firmly resolve
To get down to business and do it!