I've never formally invoked my Muse,
But, rather, she’ll just whisper in my brain,
Suggesting some idea I might use
Or novel notion I might entertain,
Then once my train of thought is on its track
And steaming down the line toward vistas new,
I feel the billows blowing from my stack
As widening visions roll into my view.
Now, past the midpoint of my destined course,
I try to apprehend where I shall end,
Soliciting assistance from the Source
On whose most bounteous blessings I depend.
A couplet’s now what I’ll ask her to send,
Since that is how a sonnet ought to end.