As crumpled parchment falls upon the ground
“Bereft of muse” is poet’s sad refrain
Our ink runs dry before said thoughts profound
Doth spill across the page in hopeful gain
Then composition comes to life perchance
By scratching out before intent is known
Expression leads conclusions merry dance
Whilst penning words find meaning all their own
Within secluded room of one’s closed mind
Imagination baulks at no way out
Yet memory doth play a part you’ll find
Providing key, enabling to spout
Such verse released allowing us to cite
From darkest depths once more into the light