'Twas night before NaNo and all through the forums
All the writers were silent while sorting their cards.
Their plot lines where hung on the walls with care,
In hopes that the word fairy soon would be there.

The laptop was nestled all snug in my lap,
While visions of scenes danced in my head.
And Indy in his rocker, and I in my recliner
Had just settled down for month as a writer.

When out of the forums sprung such a clatter.
I glanced over at the window to see whats the matter.
Away my fingers flew like a flash,
Brought up the window and hit the refresh.

The screen filled with posts, so many so;
It gave the forums a warm glow.
But what to my surprises did appear,
A new topic with eight posts so near.

The thread was filled with so much lively chatter,
I knew in a moment it was an important matter.
More rapidly I clicked to see what it could be,
And with each poster's name I shouted in glee;

	"Now, Zan!
	 Now Bookwrm!
	 Now Solitaire Rose!
	 On Blau! 
	 On Sassy!
	 On Carol Dragon!
	 To the top of the forum, 
	 To the top of the page!
	 Now write on, write on, 
	 Write on all!"

As midnight struck they wrote on the fly,
When they hit a dead scene they started to cry.
Up did the word counts, they did flew,
With others struggling to keep up with too.

Then in silence of the forum I heard
The clicking of keys and a loud purr.
As I laid my hand on my cat to pet
A voice whispered to me and I nearly wept.

It said in a tone so soft and sickening sweet, 
"You must start writing and pick up your feet."
For she was my muse who rarely spoke aloud,
But was there to help me write and be proud.

Her eyes -- how they twinkled! Her face -- soft and tender!
Her hands were so small, and in them she did render
A bullwhip and a plate full with delicious treats.
She came closers to me and I wanted to retreat.

The smell of her perfume floated to my nose,
And it relaxed me and I could recompose.
She set the plate down next to my chair.
Before she brushed back my long golden hair.

She was small and shapely, a thin tall lass,
And I sighed when she crouched next to my glass.
A brush of her fingers and a nod of her head,
Soon let me know she had returned at last.

She spoke not a word, but pointed me to the screen.
I started to write new scenes; then turning with grace
And she laid a finger to her pursed ruby red lips
And giving a slight smile, vanished with a twist of her hips

Her scent lingered as the words floated around,
And fingers tapped on the keyboard before starting to pound.
But her words were clear as her perfume disappeared,
"A good National Novel Writing Month to All, and to all a good write!"