A sudden indication
of dried-up ideation
moves me to attest
I'm just like all the rest

I've no magic power
I don't know how or
why I'm able to
do the work I do

It comes by inspiration
each newborn wet creation
thrust into my mind
A fruit inside a rind

Sometimes little verses
(for better or for worse, as
this flimsy ditty shows)
appear, or sometimes prose

Often there's a picture
it makes for quite a mixture
of forms and lines and dots--
Expressions of my thoughts

What right have I to savor
the cornucopic flavor
of so many delineated
works -- works I created!

I marvel, but I reel
at the vanity I feel
The toaster, may it boast
over each new slice of toast?

For God invented wheat
and He also thought of heat
Compared to that, my thoughts are slim
to nothing, so -- praise Him.


---jrw 12:58am