Hello Mr Oak Desk, you’re as solid as you ever were

Good day Mrs Chair, mind if for a while I snuggle here

Mr Radio if you can play me a hurting country song

My friend Miss Computer may be tempted to type along

Tell a tale of sadness, perhaps of anger, or maybe pain

Beneath the glow of Lady Lamp I’ll write my way to fame

Old man printer, you sit in non-judgemental silence I know

Every night waiting, waiting for something to show

I see I have my faithful audience of family pictures on the wall

All smiling at me sweetly like they’ll catch me if I fall

Mr In-box grossly overflowing, Mrs Out-box empty still

Only think went in her lately is a copy of my updated will

My published works on the shelf look lonely for a friend

Keep telling them I’ll find them one, I cannot tell them when

Then an idea fills my morose mind, like a lighting bolt of fire

My fingers rush the speed of light and I sit a little higher

Inspiration kicks in; characters like martinets come to life

I’m back on track again as plots and themes shift left and right

I work into the early hours with all my friends now aglow

After the first three chapters I hit print, contented off to bed I go!