Catching the morning sun through the dust
I cried from inside of my inkwell
Hoping for the day she would have some trust
Sliding down again cursing her hell
When your muse feels ignored and alone
She picks up the pen to help me out
Don’t be surprised when she won’t throw a bone
No matter how much you whine and shout
Finally I get out of my inkwell
Walking to my muse I start to sweat
Your tactics will never compel
And I guess I’ll always be in your debt
© 2016 Michael Yost 01/19
Michael's Lair 