Out of the ether of the cosmic void
From which all creativity is deployed,
An impulse came, the start of a new verse
That if played out, a poem might disburse.
His job was then to mull and contemplate
Staying within the ruminative state
As notions mingled with appropriate sounds
Fitting within the meter’s rigid bounds.
The turn emerged where his next thought would bend
Toward home, a runner rounding third, the end
In sight, and with a final burst of speed,
Eager to have his enterprise succeed—
He rocketed himself toward the plate
Leaving the clear-eyed ump to judge his fate.