To my friends . . . at the end of 1995

I sat down to write an ode
Something simple, yet sincere.
From my pen, though, nothing flowed
To my eye there came a tear.

Nothing venture, nothing scan
(as my granny used to say)
So a sonnet I began
But the words all went astray.

Has the muse forsaken me?
Do I labor 'neath a curse?
Doomed to life sans poetry--
than which there is nothing worse?

Then I thought I'd write a song.
Should be simple, dum, dum, dum . . .
With a chorus, sing along --
But the damn thing wouldn't come.

Cross it out, and start again.
With some work, it could have been a
Venture to a higher plane
Had I finished my sestina.

But at last I found the key,
One that would the door unlock
To the Room of Poesy,
Banish far my writer's block!

First you think of what to say
Then you work to say it right.
Cured the problem right away --

Season's greetings, and good night.

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