What if I couldn’t write this poem?
The lyricist inside my soul
stepped out and left a frightful hole
from which no rhymes shall ever spew—
except, perhaps, these final few.
Oh lyricist! My rhyming friend!
Do not let this rhyme be the end!
Return to make my life more sweet
that I may (something something eat)
and du-du-bum, du-du-bum… uh….
The meter’s gone too.
Surely I can still count syllables?
Lyricist! Don’t go!