Writer’s Block

It’s not because there aren’t stories to tell
In fact, there are too many
Tightly packed in an airtight sack
And tendered with the admonition to





For beans may sprout
And grow and grow
If I drag them through the mud
And I sense that when the Giant wakes
She will smell my blood

Her fury and her wrath
Are things I somewhat fear
But most of all, I dread to write
What will cause the Giant’s tears