I love the challenge of the rhyme,
And the challenge of the words,
I love the challenge of the theme,
And the challenge of the verse.
I see - I hear - I feel - I think,
How can I explain my ache?
I grab a paper and a pen,
For the poem I must make.
But I am seized with a dilemma,
My words just will not flow,
Yet, I am so filled, I must release,
Or, surely, I'll explode.
I have my tools - my pad, my pen,
There's quiet in my workplace,
A good light's shining overhead,
I have comforts in my space.
My poem would be magnificent,
If I could pry it loose,
I drop my head upon my hands,
As I cry, "What's the use!"
Everything's in readiness,
But I'm foiled by frustration,
Some element is lacking,
Where is my inspiration?
Thesauruses and lexicons
Provide words, with little stress, 
And rhyming dictionaries, 
Are at hand at my request.
But with no dream or worthy cause,
With which one's heart is smitten,
Those books are of no use at all,
And poems cannot be written.
I think God needs to take the hand
Of this poor, misbegotten poet,
And loan me some of His good words
That I'd be pleased to use ... and show it!
Virginia (Ginny) Ellis
Copyright March 2003 ~ Revised 2008