As morning began to devour night;
Cascades of words spilling forth so deep,
I gasped for air and couldn't sleep.
In the dim, unearthly chill and damp,
I moaned with a sharp, poetic cramp,
Struggled to focus my bleary sight,
And tapped away in my screen's harsh light.
Wan pewter light filled my window frames,
As I fought for words and thoughts and names.
Slowly my thoughts finally coalesced,
In a mind that simply would not rest.
I marshalled my sluggish, weary mind,
A writer's drive and finesse to find.
I saw my muse on a distant hill,
And beckoned her to come closer still.
Despite my efforts to wax profound,
My muse walked away without a sound.
I searched for reasons, but don't know them.
All I got was this silly poem…
Mick McKellar
June 2019
The early bird gets the worm, but all I got was Drang and Sturm.
Mick
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