When sitting to write a new blog
His mind became encased in fog
The eyes, they did glaze
And now, lost in a haze
Through ideas, he did make a hard slog
See, he's written of things and of stuff
And is finding it really quite tough
Each and every day
To have new things to say
Without picking a dud or a duff
Still there really must be plenty more
From his brain upon which he could draw
It all bubbles away
Churning day after day
There must be something in the store...
Nope, all I've got is stupid rhymes. Ah, well.