In a vacant and a pensive mood
Lonely and cloudlike in my wandering mind
No daffodils are to be seen,
Nor bays upon whose margins to tread.

Sitting in this café crude
Drinking beverages of the caffeinated kind
The world around feels mean
And the possibilities for the future dead

Projects call but beginnings elude
Progress is something I cannot find
The page before me sits there blank and clean
And only echoes ring inside my head.