TIS THE INKWELL'S DRIED UP SPELL

the poet cried upon the page;
in black ink tears he spilled his rage
and from the inkwell's nigh dried pit,
came a funny, a humorous bit.
and grief spewed forth as ink's black stain
on a mission of purge the pain.
so varied is the poet's work,
a nap's escape would let him shirk
his duty. . .that's the writer's quirk 

                          --Monty