The Dance

I rolled a turn of phrase across my tongue, Then tucked it in a corner of my mind. For that is oft how verses are begun; At least that’s the experience I find. I’ll think sometimes there isn’t quite enough To tease a work from but a simple phrase. Only to find a diamond in the rough Emerging after hiding there for days. But when I try to force a certain theme, It’s likely that I’ll find I come up short. For times like these can make a poet scream At how the muse will stall or even thwart. Although it frustrates when the muse is coy, I’ve learned to greet the dance with certain joy.