"Old Quake"

His muse was often late for work
This practice angered him
At other times she called in sick
Quite pleased to choose and pick

One Halloween he grabbed a knife
Then hid behind the door
As Prissy Miss came breezing in
He swung and stuck it in

Blood went spurting wall to wall
But wait, this isn't all
The muse instead of falling flat
Fled as a hairy bat

Time rushed by which forced a search
For her substitute
He placed some ads, posted notes,
But old Ma Bell stayed mute

He's museless yet, therefore must pray
For new words day by day
And hairy bats can make him shake
So hard he's now "Old Quake."