That Elusive Muse

He sat at his desk, hours at length

Waiting for the Muse’s touch.

He tried call forth inspiration’s strength.

To compose a ballad of ‘The Dancing Dutch’.

The Bard was a very famous man,

Brilliance they expected from him then.

Burdened with expectations amassed

The Bard kept crying; his writing crass.

The Night slowly crept for Dawn

And suddenly he witnessed a bright new morn.

The Bard now ‘fraid of his plight,

His ruthless King awaited a ballad at twilight.

And as the time trickled past

That minuscule hole in the hourglass,

Alas The Bard abandoned all hope

And prepared himself for the hangman’s rope.

At dusk, he presented himself to The King

Said ” I tried but couldn’t write a thing.”

The hangman readied his apparatus

Grasping an opportunity he didn’t get as much.

On the gallows, The Bard was asked

To choose the words that’d be his last.

And out flew a beautifully composed ballad

That prompted the King to stand in awe of the lad.

Alas, Fate had the last laugh

You see, The Bard had cheated his way to the top.

And his best and most original work

Was the last word that spouted from his throat.

And so this tale of That Elusive Muse,

Has been sung by bards who seek to amuse.