I reached a level of burn-out.
Life's burnout, I couldn't say.
When trying to write a poem,
My thought would stray and stray.
I thought it was a temporary state,
A burnt out at any rate.
It smote me with a dangerous sword,
It took my mind away from my mind.
And as I lay defeated,
And rolling around on the ground,
My body fell around and around,
But now the Muse said, 'stand up.'
I thoughtlessly listened to him.
I shook off all the dirt,
Off my shirt and skirt.
I thoughtfully gave him attention.
I quickly grabbed a plume,
And played it on the page.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Sometimes we just get a block for a while. A great poem.