Awake, O Muse! Come on; get up!
I know times are hard and you
Work three jobs and worry
That you don't have a green card,
But how long do you think I can vamp
Before some squinchy-eyed reader says
"There's no poem occurring here?"
How much better things used to be!
Old Milton, leaning on a daughter,
Would hobble in and rap a coin
Hard against the polished oak counter
Saying "Muse! I wish to justify the ways
Of God to Man! What d'you have in stock?"
"Very good, Sir. Are you justifying God's ways
To a particular man or to humanity at large?"
"At large, I think; no sense being stingy."
"And would you be thinking of a sonnet
Or perhaps a villanelle? We've some nice material
Just in from France."
“None of that; I’ve decided
To write an epic."
"Congratulations!
My word! We haven't done one of those
In years! Will you be inspired here
Or should I send the boy around?"
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