The poet waits for his muse to arrive
His words are in disarray
He tries his best to right them down
But doesn't know what to say

He feels the words inside his heart
But his quill is barely used
He wants the words to bring him peace
But his words have all refused

Then inspiration slowly arrives
To put his words in place
She whispers the words he needs to say
As he writes her words with grace

The poet slowly writes his pain
His muse close by his side
Without his muse his words are lost
Though many a poet has tried

They call this place a writer's block
And the poet will always lose
But inspiration will never come
When we write without our muse