When the hand is ready but the mind is not,
Not a word can you write nor a thought can you jot.
And the hand hangs there, paused, ready to jump,
But without the mind's command, the whole body sits like a lump.
But the words don't come and the hand is dumb and still,
Sitting, balanced. On the very summit, but unable to roll down the hill.
Oh, please, send some words, a thought, to relieve this poor hand,
Who is posed hopelessly where the mind's conviction made him stand.
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