My muse seems to have fled
My inspiration dead.
I don’t quite understand
Why writing can’t be planned.
I feel as dull as dirt.
My word choice not as pert.
I want to write, I swear,
The right words just seem rare.
I choose to use my muse.
Should she try to refuse,
It’s her I’ll write about,
Whenever she sneaks out.
Advertisements
Pingback: Jammies and Writer’s Block | Diabetic Redemption