"In Xanadu did Kublai Khan..."
Coleridge's quill writes swiftly on,
Upon his paper visions pour,
Till The Man From Porlock knocks the door.
"Good sir," he cries, "I seek your ear,
A matter pressing, urgent, near."
Coleridge sighs, his dream does fade,
As Porlock's Man his tale conveyed.
The visions lost, the magic gone,
The poet's muse, now withdrawn,
Yet in the story of that night,
The Man From Porlock and his blight
Broke the creative writing trance,
But left this tale of happenstance,
A reminder that the fleeting Muse
Will come and go just as she choose.
If only on that fateful day,
The poet said, "Just Go Away!"
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