No time tonight, so this one's going to suck.
You might have come here hoping for a gem,
But this is not going to be one of them,
So if you hoped that--sorry, no such luck.
Blood from a stone or turnip will not come,
and you can't milk a fish; best not to try.
There will be music again by and by,
But now the strings of Orpheus' lyre are dumb.
Habit can do a lot, but just so much;
The rest is magic, or perhaps a spell
Of the spiritual sort--so who can tell
When he may not be visited by such?
If it's ninety-nine percent perspiration,
You still need just a little inspiration.
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