On days like these, I struggle to words find.
For writing verse, I am in too poor mind;
Few riches do I gain from muse unkind,
And miserly has inspiration been
For me when I have sat to put my pen
To rhyming words in rhythms yet again.
Too near events have touched me these past days,
Reminding me of all the many ways
That I have failed. My guilt now me betrays,
As well it might. I do deserve no less,
And sins in plenty am pushed to confess,
Their stream from my mouth filling pit with cess--
For I have been as Stupid God would see
Me and too many others come to be.
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