Prompt Six:

Que Sera, Sera

At the halfway point
and the words jumble;
arthritis numbs each joint,
as fingers fumble.

Creative juices, gone,
the muse has left me.
Pages still undone –
what will be, will be.

A final attempt –
pulling threads of thought;
ideas unkempt –
half a sonnet, I’ve got;

but not a pentameter,
within the parameter.