With soberness of mind, he takes up his quill,
And awaits the muses that are currently still,
he struggles in thought as the candle burns low,
a flickering light on a page, words yet to bestow.
Then all of a sudden there’s a change in it light,
The flame once flickering dim is now dancing and bright,
Words flowing like summoned then plucked from the air,
And the former blank parchment is no longer bare.
Full of meaning and purpose he scribes through the night,
A little here a little there ‘til he’s got it just right,
Then sets he his quill from whence it had come,
And hopes that his work is pleasing to some.
© by Christopher John Petersen