In a quiet room where thoughts take flight A writer sits with candlelight Attempting verse, but words won't come It’s a struggle, like solving a riddle without the clue. A thought: The moon is made of cheese And friends with a potato, they please! Together they dance under stars so bright A cosmic waltz in pure delight. Then another notion pops up quick A statue that can talk or a cat that trips But wait, such whimsy might not fit The writer’s mind is in quite a split. Ideas race like trains on tracks Some lead nowhere, just crickets and whacks. Attempting rhymes with reckless abandon Each line feels forced, like climbing a ladder of panic. Yet amidst the chaos, creativity blooms And from struggle emerges room for glooms. So here's to the writer, brave and true Who turns defeat into something new. For in every mishap, there’s a song A poem born where struggles belong.