Poet Lament

Oh! How and when, did my workhorse pen,
A slumber did it sleep?
I came across a score, a dozen,
Verses, in a heap,
Of heartfelt notes, riddles and rhymes,
And clever limericks,
Sonnets, odes, most often times,
My cheapest, quickest fix!
Remember not I, what was that,
Which led me so astray,
Listless and distraught I sat,
Mourning every single day,
The ink had dried, the words did starve,
The verses now un-penned,
The song had died, and now I carve,
The stony silence, mend,
What remained of a heart bereft,
Of rhyme and reason, pray!
Bits and pieces, what was left,
And all I had to say,
I closed my eyes, my faithful pen,
The closest friend I had,
Rescued me from this mire, amen!
Spewed out a poem, sad!
Through my veins, the blood of yore,
Now pumped with all its might,
My words had formed a heart, and more,
I lived again to fight!