They come and they go,
an ebb and a flow
of creative delight and frustration
The hide in plain sight,
on signs left and right,
While the muse seems to take a vacation.
But then I glance at the moon
And my soul starts to swoon
Before long I remember the dance.
It can feel damn absurd
To consider a word
Has an immeasurable power to enhance.
Now I sit here serene
By the light of a screen
And type out some rhymes that feel silly
But so important the practice
When surrounded by things to distract us
And what better tribute is there, really?