In my mind’s eye I see him;
Lazing on some distant shore,
Warm breezes caressing his cinnamon skin
As my calls he chooses to ignore.

In disgust I ball up the paper,
And throw it into the trash.
I send out another plea for his help,
As my ideas continue to crash.

My muse is a heartless soul.
Only showing up when he deems fit.
As you can see by this little ode to him,
He was nowhere around when I wrote it.