My
muse has gone on strike today
See
it with its picket sign
At
least it hasn’t moved away
I’m
sure some day it will be fine
My
muse hasn’t shared its demands
What
can a muse really want?
Not
fame, riches or lands
Or
a house down by the ocean front
Perhaps
it lacks some air to breathe
Or
maybe just a kick in the buttDon’t know what it really needs
Or how to get out of this rut
So
if I get up out of this chair
And
make myself some good hot tea
And
think of poemy, dreamy things
Maybe
my muse will come back to me
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