Bob Dylan was alone.
He picked up his guitar
But was all out of ideas.

He searched for inspiration in his room
But all he saw was gloom.

Bob began to cry
And a tear from his right eye
Landed on C.

A tear fell from his left
And landed on B.
Another fell on D.

‘Still got it,’ Bob sniffed,
As he strummed his sad riff.

© Carl Burkitt 2018