Blank paper, smooth and white,
and a pencil with lead of dark grey,
God, give me the strength today,
to let my creativity take its flight,
send me words fit to write.

Now i sit here at the table,
spinning yet another fable.
If i should die before i'm through,
i pray that this one gets published, too.
muses visit me through the night,
so i can write come morning light.

bless the reader that enjoys these words,
and remember past poets through their verse.
there will come a day when my inkwell will run dry,
shed not a tear or stop to cry,
but mix my ashes in with ink,
and write this down on a clean white sheet.
"i was a poet, although i've died,
through my verse, i still survive."