Not Very Grand.
What shall I write about today?
by Bernard Shaw
Nothing comes into my mind,
It seems that I do not have much to say,
Saying nothing is sometimes very kind.
The world goes around in the same old way,
I sit here pondering in my armchair.
Yes sometimes it is better with nothing to say,
To be for once without a care.
The seasons come the seasons go,
I am doomed to sit out my fate,
Everything goes so very slow,
My thoughts are out of date.
So today I will write about nought,
My pen is heavy in my hand.
You know it is worth a thought,
For writing nothing is not very grand.