|by Veronica Ann Cech|
|My muse is dead, just up and died.|
Never left a note, never said goodbye.
I cajole her and beg her and still she sleeps.
My creative flair, a prisoner she keeps.
I bang my head, and bite my nails.
And still no creative tales.
So at long last I give up the fight,
Turn off the PC, and say goodnight.
And just as my body drifts off to sleep,
I hear this annoying little "peep"
I tell her . . . "No, go away . . .
I called and called for you all day! "
But the "peeps" persist and grow louder still
Until from my slumber I am drawn against my will.
So here I sit in the middle of the night,
Gleaning a strange comfort from the monitor's light.
And wait and wait for my muse to speak,
But all I get is that annoying "peep!"
You might find me one early morn , passed on , gone to my Lord,
And all because my muse was bored!