I spent this afternoon lounging on a bench on Southampton Common, notebook and pencil in hand, awaiting the sudden rush of inspiration that such a scene should offer. I had Shakespeare, Keats and Tennyson (to name but a few) playing through my iPod which filled me with the overwhelming need to pen something, anything!
In the absence of inspiration I decided to test my memory by writing poems from others, such as this piece from Robert Frost:
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favour fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
And still my mind refused to create anything original.