We’ve all been there before
A fruitless day
Where your page is white and unblemished
And you think for any way at all

To fill it up
Doodling and scribbling, then in a rush
Trying to do some work
Before your insides turn to mush

When your work is handed in
Your teacher is not fazed
By all the messy jottings
Kind of like a maze

They grab a coffee
And pick it apart, bit by bit
They are long unrewarded
When, at last they hit

Upon it, with hours of hard work
They forget about their aching head
And they hurl it in joy…
And nothing more is said.