Poetry From the Heart

I think my muse is dead, Or chooses to ignore This aged so-called poet Who should have died before Her muse Because this is a poetic law. What is the good of a muse If he goes away I badly need a younger one That would be sure to stay. With me until my end He would not ridicule me He'd be my trusted friend This muse would understand That my brain gets in a fuddle This young man would be patient And help me to undo this literary muddle. I find myself in. Not like my old muse Who thought my every word a sin. New ideas are needed, From a younger brain I am out of ideas They have gurgled down the drain. I have not had the education, Or the opportunities for some, And at the risk of sounding, Like I'm beating my drum. I try to be honest and sincere, In my writing. Compassionate and caring, With no malice or backbiting. In this poem, I have written, I have tried to impart, Everything I write comes straight From my heart.