My pen seems to have run out of ink,
And my inspiration's grown thin, I think.
The blooming words that once danced and swirled,
Now dry and wither in this quiet world.

But do not fret, for in the depths of night,
New whispers of magic await, taking flight.
Embrace the stillness, let your spirit soar,
And soon, inspiration will knock on your door.

This moment is but a brief interlude,
Where dreams and musings softly elude.
Yet in time, the ink will once more flow,
As your creativity begins to glow.