When I was in high school at the end of the school year, we would write in each other’s yearbook. Sometimes I was embarrassed by the writing, other times I might find a sweet memory. One classmate wrote a poem that I never understood until more recently. I always remembered the poem and today it seems to fit how I feel about writing a SOL today:
Inspiration won’t come
Ink poor pen
I forgotten the last line but this is how my brain feels currently.