a letter from the muse

If ideas are money, all mine was spent.
My mind's pockets were empty, yawning wide,
and I was lying low and trying to hide
from my artistic creditors.  A bent
old woman came to my door to present
a note from my absent Muse, who wrote to chide
me for my sloth.  "My absence has denied
you nothing vital, and ought not prevent
you from working.  You're a craftsman, you don't need
lightning bolts.  Take what's on hand, do your best."

She's right.  I'm not in such a bad state --
I've time enough to work at my own speed
and a world to work with.  As for the rest --
the mystic-poet shtick --  inspiration can wait.