I write, but not always, as my mood may pursue,
Influenced by emotions, a whimsical guide,
My quill dances on the page, as feelings inside.

Sometimes the words flow forth like a gentle stream,
As joy and inspiration fill my heart's esteem;
Other times, the blank page stares back at me cold,
And silence reigns, as my emotions grow old.

Yet still I wait, for the muse to take flight,
And guide my hand to craft a story so bright;
For in the depths of my soul, a writer's fire burns,
A passion that sparks, and the words return.

So though I may not write each day or night,
My emotions ebb and flow, like the tides of life;
I'll hold on tight to my passion's gentle might,
And let the words flow forth, in their own sweet light.