How can there be no story in the storybook?

We used to joke about this particular poem we had in Literature back in those days,

a very beautiful moving one full of imagery and depth. It was the one by Pablo Neruda called 'Tonight I Can Write'.

I suppose the equal of the poem, but one entitled 'Tonight I Cannot Write' would be a piece of blank paper with only the unfortunate title sitting alone to speak for itself, one line so insignificant and yet, still, so significant.

I suppose the last few months where I left this blog empty can therefore be considered the masterpiece that I have written and left sitting alone to speak for itself. So insignificant and yet, still, so significant.

"..and the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture" -P.N.