I feel so put upon to write today,
when I have much too much to think about.
That I should narrow anything I say
to one idea would only leave stuff out.
But when I think of all the stuff I know,
or all the stuff I’d learn if I just tried,
the possibilities don’t shrink, they grow,
to make it just too awful to decide.
“You will not write, you shall not write this morning,”
the voice of firm resistance badgers me;
it is, I must admit, a frequent warning,
administered to keep my schedule free.
I’ve failed, alas, when all is said and done:
to write on nothing seems lke too much fun.