This is a writer's block poem of drawing a blank.
Drawing a blank © Donna Rae Lands
Drawing a blank…
Going to the money bank…
We sigh because money is dry…
And our debts are high…
What the hank, our treasures just shrank…
Drawing a blank…
Wrapped up in the blue-green tank…
Do we conceive or believe to achieve?
Oh yes, money doesn’t grow on trees…
Not everyone knows where their souls rank…
Drawing a blank…
We all walk the plank…
We have nothing to buy…
All the shelves are dry…
So much for our vodka of drank…
Drawing a blank…
We all ran over the skunk of skank…
No more blazing nerve…
We should have swerved going around that curve…
All in a day on our way to the empty bank…
Drawing a blank…
Enriching those of the highest rank…
The elite are in for a treat…
The reaper and keeper come to all to meet…
Ching-Chong gone-wrong…Clankety-Clank…
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