Haven’t heard from her in a while.
Corona virus’s got our tongue.
I refer of course to my muse and
me. I put my ear down to the floor.
Writing without her I abhor.
She’s either dead or deep asleep.
Well, I know she likes friends, and
since I’ve been lax with too much
time in quarantine, I go down
the stairs with tea and toast to find
her slumped, her cauldron cold–
dead, or perhaps she’s only old?
Hearing me, she lets out a yell;
which tells me that my muse is well.
She breathes fire and cauldron boils,
paying off her former toils.
The look she gives me is rueful, but
then cackling she rubs her hands
and shoots at me with rubber bands.

BACKSTORY: I labored long over a similar verse but lost it into the computer gizzards. It was lost but the idea kept haunting me, so I decided to publish the above without my muse participating. Perchance another day she’ll help me do better. If I lose this one too, I’ll acquiesce…..