my muse is cold
is it on the road
taken flight like some migratory bird?
i feel so lost
like i’m tempest-tossed
with no anchor, no sight of those words

is it my winter sent
of discontent
should i call on the spirits to inspire?
but e’en bacchus ain’t willing
and i’m not trilling
no matter how hard i aspire!

so bear with me
while i low-key be
till my muse does return once more!
when it’s spring again
i’ll sing ‘n rhyme and then
it will be back to rhyme-timing i know!