I have no muse, so no imagination,
My page is blank without a creation,
I guess I wont be giving a recitation.
My heart is blank,
I wonder why I ,am stuck,
Maybe am just out of luck,
Or maybe i will have my muse back.
I am not one to talk much,
I was never blessed with speech as such,
But my words on paper are a match.
They express the feelings I lock inside a latch.
I am never one to fight,
I could never hold a fist tight,
But a pen expresses my might,
With it I can fight from morning till night
I am not one to draw,
When I try all I get is a creased brow,
But my words can draw a perfect crow,
In the mind I let a picture grow.