I sit and sip my morning latte brew
With yellow pad on lap and pen in hand
In hopes a message from the Muse comes through,
A boon I can request but not command.
The best prerequisite’s a good night’s sleep
So I might ponder in alert repose
Ready for something rising from the deep
That once for ancient minstrels arose.
My daily practice is to contemplate
While waiting to define what comes to mind
In rhythmic words that aptly celebrate
Whatever inspirations I’ve opined.
The last thing, though, I want my poem to tout
Is how its very being came about.