I sit and stare, the cursor blinks,
Writer’s block has all the kinks.
No inspiration, not a spark,
An empty page, my brain just dark.
But wait! Upon my shoulder sits
A creature of peculiar wits.
A chameleon, small and green,
The strangest writing buddy seen!
He ***** his head, one bulging eye,
And seems to say, “Come on, just try!”
Then, shifting hues to sunny gold,
He whispers tales yet to be told.
When drafting poems, sad and deep,
He turns to blue, begins to weep!
A tiny tear, a mournful sigh,
Reflecting feelings passing by.
For action scenes, a fiery red,
He puffs and hisses, filled with dread.
His little claws begin to tap,
Demanding twists within the gap.
If comedy’s the chosen style,
He turns bright pink and seems to smile.
And puffs his throat in silent glee,
Suggesting jokes for you and me.
He’s not much use with grammar rules,
And spelling? Well, he knows no schools.
He just provides the vibrant spark,
The wild ideas, and character arc.
Thank you, Allan, my scaly muse,
For chasing off the writer’s blues.
With every color, every change,
You help my creativity arrange!
His full name is Edgar Allan Poe - HA! who would have guessed?
