'Poets are poor' was your like,
for you loathed he that loves rhymes;
O but now you love to live in our line:
a hungry goat just can't cross the yams!

Invoke the Muse,
and she must meet you;
drink deep her juice,
and she will warm you.

Practise writing lines,
and you'll feel poesy glad;
revolt, as rats do to the cat,
but she'll stand strong to seek hers:
for the Muse can't never die,
even when you later die.

Eche Ononukwe

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/bow-to-the-muse-to-obioma-nwogwugwu/