Oh dear, Oh dear! I've nothing to write about!
Neither do the hills, flowers or skies spark inspiration;
Nor do the breeze, horizon or herbs that sprout!
Not even bosoms and vulvae, oh! this is DUMB!
When I try to sound a bit Plathesque
I get depressed by my own miserable lack of imagination;
And when I try to sound a bit Dickinsonesque
Even I am like "WHAT THE TRUMP!"
Wait, then what the duck* am I...?
Nay, Leave it.