Like a gust of wind she arrives to refresh, encourage
To paint bright pics of joy, fiction and fun
Each rustle of air to drive intent to the edge
Rhythm and rhyming and maybe the odd pun
A need to have some paper, and a pen,in hand
Gusts drop, alas , and lose their full worth
When, oh when will the next good blow land?
Of apt inspiration there'll be such a sad dirth
But much though I value this outpouring of aid
The when and duration is hard and frustrating for me
If only the tabling of gusts could be set and laid
The more relaxed and productive is how I would be

I find that my muse prefers times when I just fall asleep
So perhaps I should fix my wind detector to give a beep.