At last the house is quit, all are gone
It´s wonderful to have some time to think
And then light hits me like the day at dawn
A song I must rite before I sink

Beyond all hope and help of my dear muse
the wheels begin to crank and turn
but I can`t rhyme the world or get my thoughts to fuse
And utter chaos fills the page, I sigh

it seems to be a paradox of a man
so many words to use but seldom will
kind thoughts of deeds abound without a plan
that uses worthless phrases to mean nothing
And so a man whose words are chosen few
will often say the most in brightest light