She doesn’t come to me when I call her,
Or when it’s a good time for me to write.
She only comes to me when she pleases.
My book depends on her, literally.
There wouldn’t be a book if it weren’t for
her.
So, I learned to listen to her when she wants to speak
up.
I learned to make her creating mood work for
me.
I treat her with coffee and cookies when she makes an
appearance.
We sit together at the table when she
visits,
And we start writing.
I absorb every word she says,
And I let her lead the way.
~~~~~~~~~~
From my book of poetry Sunset in Toronto, page
122.
