In tarnished dream many do bide,
On crackled ground their spirit’s dried,
With mind they struggle in a row,
Beseech the muse to let ink flow!

In dithered state their minds are fraught,
Try as they will it’s all for naught
For souls are retching in a throe,
Beseech the muse to let ink flow!

In dark closet knelt on your knees,
The bards of old you must appease
And beg with fervor they bestow,
Beseech the muse to let ink flow!

For should they grant you Clio’s gift
And carry you o’er the vast rift,
To golden fertile fields you’ll go.
Beseech the muse to let ink flow!

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