Muse

poetry about writer's block and inspiration

No more bird flew his sky,
No more flower left to inspire;
Like a battered soldier head hung low,
He laid down his pen and slowly let go;
Stared for a while in the void of his mansion,
How with all his past was he to surrender?
His heart once fueled with thrill and passion,
Froze like rain drops in December!

Suddenly through the coldness of despair,
A warm presence was felt;
"The sunlight hit the window sill
And snow began to melt."
Claiming more ground than before,
Ink was once again put to use;
Good old poet finally found
His long forgotten muse.....