My neighbour upstairs is a critic
The fellow below writes plays
The woman next-door has a deadline to meet
I haven't seen her for days
Two floors up, a young couple rowing
She's "Times" and he writes for the Sun
The insults start flying "you low-brow", "you snob"
No wonder my work's not begun
I can't get inspired when I'm at home
And no matter how you may mock
I go outside to write my poems
'Cos I live in a writers' block.
Thanks to Spinsky for help with making this scan. Just a bit of fun to over-come my own period of scribe's appartment building
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