Sunrise like a poem

I sat by a boulder, then an image grew A goddess with a pen hovered over the stone She said I'm a muse, with a mission for you To write a song titled "sunrise like a poem." I said "nothing rhymes with poem; I can prove it on my phone "Wait 2 minutes, I'll pull up rhymezone. She said, "You don't get it, its rare that I come Zeus saw something in you, the chosen one!" I didn't like this, I felt washed up and depleted My songs weren't selling, my fans felt cheated This wouldn't revive them, no way to show them No way to compare a sunrise to a poem I wrote something down, then tore up the first verse. I could write a song about sunrise, but not the reverse I recalled the orange sun behind Stonehenge on Salisbury Plain But the metaphors, the similes, I searched for in vain. I looked up a website a photographer made "Sunrise light diffuses, it said "and subtleties emerge." "Mists drift, colors have a delicate shade Shadows are softer, wavelengths scatter and diverge." So I thought: daybreak is serene in its way, A hush of becoming at the edge of the day. So maybe the theme was a new start at growin' But my fans wouldn't relate to a song like a poem. I said to the muse, still hovering in air "This mission you set, it just isn't fair "The words aren't coming, the inspiration isn't flowin' My base won't go for a sunrise like a poem. For my fans, I decided I should do my best I told the muse that I need an empirical test "I'll get into my car, all silver and chrome I'll ride on by the hollows, by the primeval stone I'll switchback until I reach the seabird's home I'll park all night by the cliff over spray and foam And maybe at dawn I'll see a "sunrise like a poem." The muse winced at my rhyme, but said "billboards await "I get flack when your songs aren't great I'll meet you on the cliff, we'll both see the sun rise I know you can write this, after a couple of tries." Hours later the horizon blazed gold on the sea, Revealing a truth that needed no help from me. It shimmered with peace—Síocháin, even shalom— Not quite, but almost, a sunrise like a poem. I rebelled, said "I've lost it, it's gone "Go ambush the next writer by that stone I can't fit the tone, the theme is unknown I give up on the sunrise, I can't do this poem. The muse shuddered, then began to cry. I would have liked to help, but the river ran dry.