When dreams spin ‘round inside my silly head
And leave my fingers twitching for a pen
I think on all the people who have said
“I’m captive of the muses once again”

For those who’d laugh, they’ve never felt the plight
When spirit wants, but words cannot be found
When teasing muse, with visions of delight,
To cruel block a writer’s hands have bound

Yet no regrets have I with bargains made
To those whose whimsy changes with the wind
For visions granted, even with hands staid,
Are sustenance to feed this troubled mind

And when the muses do feel in the mood
They lift the block, so I can share such food