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Today, a melancholy day,
Lost in a mood of dismal gray,
I sought to chase the clouds away,
Invited Muse, "Come out to play?"
For once, it seemed she would decline,
Devices left to me and mine,
With jumbled words, hard to define,
I struggle now to sense a sign.
Elusive as my muse might be,
I beg her now so awkwardly,
"Please, please, won't you come back to me?"
A plea she answered cryptically.
"Do you not know that you've been blessed?
Return I now at your behest,
Riddle portrayed as written test,
Fill volumes with poetic best."
I paused to ponder on my plight,
That which I know is what to write,
The essence of supreme insight,
Beacon to follow burning bright.
I've suffered not from hunger pangs
Is starved for love somewhat the same?
Known not a thirst that wouldn't wane,
Quelled not, is search for knowledge vain?
Where once my thoughts were empty well,
Upon this drought I couldn't dwell.
Inevitable that I befell,
To bidding of my Muse's spell.
With clouds dispelled, a sunshine day,
As Muse and I go out to play,
Ideas flow like fountain spray,
From ink to page without delay.
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