This, once again, started as a review.
I liked, where it was going, and expanded it a little. Art

                                 
When our muse, in on a cruise,
and our pen is out of ink.
The spirit that we write with,
 is also on the blink.

It leaves us, without, the expression,
that we're, so, to, used.
Leaves our readers, wonderin:
why haven't they: with there wit, and pen?, us: enlightened, and, amused.

But then, that elusive, companion, 
decides to return, and,
we start writin our writes, the words,
just seem to churn.

Thru turbulent waters, life's ups and downs,
our muse, tries to hang with us, but,
when we threatin  it, to drown,
Takes it's creative,
sensitive self, and heads, right,
out of town