I’m simmering with unexploded anger,
I’m ticking like a ton of TNT.
The Muse dropped by the other night - but dang ’er!
She bolted. Didn’t even stay for tea!

I honestly can’t blame her for departing,
She was within her right to walk away.
Imagine that: the Muse in my apartment,
Alone at night! What would the neighbors say?

I’m devastated, and my soul is barren.
I wasn’t even worth a one-night stand!
And yet she hung out gladly with Lord Byron.
With Shakespeare she stayed for weeks on end.

I hurried to my desk, for greatness famished:
“Here comes an epic poem, nothing less!”
But she was gone, my inspiration vanished,
With twenty dollars - for a cab, I guess.

I pace around the house, hot and bothered.
Fine! I forgive her, even though it’s tough.
She went away. She left me for another.
My company just wasn’t good enough.

A giant cake with candles, meant to dazzle,
Has crumbled, and I’m down with the blues.
My so-called friends, meanwhile, have found and guzzled
V.S.O.P. intended for the Muse!

Erasing years, like people on the black list,
My life’s monotonous. I yawn and whine.
She isn’t coming back. How bloody tactless!
And yet she left me two amazing lines.

Two perfect lines! No poet ranks above me!
Now fame and fortune (are) sure to come my way!
Two perfect lines: “Thou art so temperate and lovely!
“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”