Hush Little Baby

How many times do I start to quickly and easily reply To a comment and realize with a humdrum of a sigh That it has become part of a poem insisting to be let out So I hurry to a blank page, and throw it down with a shout. And how many times do I stare at this stuff And wonder where it has come from, it’s sordid and gruff. Is there a monster residing inside my pea brain? One who will not release me until we reach the refrain. But I am no songwriter, you protest as she takes over your head. Hush little baby, she says. Commandeers and is bossy with pencil red. You are irritated beyond reason, but aggressive she is in charge now. How many of the rest of you have a muse who is a strong dairy cow?