Many a late night spent I, trying to crack this nut. Three days, I wept to the heavens. Three days! Verily I say, much easier it would be to slog through a mire. Three days of three pages each. Who can conceive such thoughts as be penned on these mighty leaves?"Nay!", they cried, "`tis poetry!". "Poetry", I pondered in the silence of my heart. Prosody, perhaps, with flowering words entwined about playful constructs. Still the struggle raged on. But then with bitterness heavy upon my spirit, I lay the tome down with defeat. Rest, and maybe another day to take up the valiant attempt, but for now, tis not for the likes such as I.