My muse has gone on strike today
See it with its picket sign
At least it hasn’t moved away
I’m sure some day it will be fine
My muse hasn’t shared its demands
What can a muse really want?
Not fame, riches or lands
Or a house down by the ocean front
Perhaps it lacks some air to breathe
Or maybe just a kick in the butt
Don’t know what it really needs
Or how to get out of this rut
So if I get up out of this chair
And make myself some good hot tea
And think of poemy, dreamy things
Maybe my muse will come back to me
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