Tuesday, February 26, 2013



I have a Muse.
Her name is Amnesia.
She’s never around,
When I really need her.

She’s off, gallivanting,
With some other guy,
Leaving me on my own.
Don’t ask me why.

Amnesia is fickle.
She comes and she goes.
She gives me the fits,
As I struggle with prose.

I’d get a new Muse,
In a minute.
It’s true!
But what if she’s worse?
What’s a writer to do?

So I’ll grin and I’ll bear it.
I won’t open my trap.
I’ll sit and I’ll wait,
And put up with her crap.

‘Cause sometimes it’s better,
The Devil you know,
Than to find a new Muse,
And risk greater woe.

Amnesia is fickle.
That much is true.
But when she is here,
See what we can do?

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