Alone I sit,
with pen in hand,
awaiting the words
with no command.
Words now missing,
as I search in vain
of where they're hidden
and now will remain.
Lost within this greying mind,
come out, from where you hide.
Return to me; save my pride.
I have a need. I surely do,
if I am to still write these words
for all of you.
The well is dry.
It's full of sand,
there is no writing,
when you cannot command.