I don’t know what to write today.

My boisterous muse has gone silent.

Outside it is stuck between sun clouds.

Teetering on the edge of change.

Inside there is a comfortable chill.

A sense of serenity in the air.

It is quiet, despite the bees

buzzing all around.

Laughter bubbles over short walls.

Muffled, it floats overhead.

The steady staccato drum of keys,

tap around tight corners.

Voices ring in nonsensical disarray,

creeping along the dull carpet.

I don’t know what to write today.

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