In silence he attempts to summon inspiration
Waiting alone on the dark side of the moon
Thinking hard, not without perspiration
With the quill to make the parchment bloom

Like Doyle's Holmes, she yearns for a solution
Looking left, right, up, and in the past
With pristine stillness of the mind, clear of all pollution
The oncoming torrent of language can she grasp

In front of an eager crowd he stands
Waiting for sweet melodies to flow
Burning, hungry for applause and clapping hands
One, two, three, and away we go

Now here I am, thinking wistful thoughts
'What if's' and 'why not's' through my mind race
But I know my skill and efforts are not for naught
Upon searching, I've found a happy place.