The Source of My Inspiration
I sit inside the hot tub,
As naked as can be;
Waiting for inspiration
To come and visit me.
They first appear as words,
In my head all alone;
Then I rush inside and type them
On the computer as a poem.
Sometimes they are a verse,
With a metered spoken beat;
Sometimes they are song lyrics,
With my musical tapp’n feet
I may get out of the water
All wrinkled like a raisin,
But to cure my writer’s block,
The hot tub I’m a praise’n.
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