Is writing like Bach?

Leave it to ferment for a few weeks
and your newfound abilities fill you with a surprise
that your music teacher told you would come?

Muse! Bow propitious while my pen relates...

It's been an entire month and not once have I had a flash of inspiration for a poem.

Have higher studies made me stupid? Or maybe it's being immersed in other languages--I can't recall witticisms or idioms from my own.

You hit that straight on the nail!

...Straight on the head? ...Head on the hammer? ...Hammer on the nail?

What?

I find myself grasping for English words, subjecting strangers to stilted conversations. I grow worse, by the day, at schmoozing--which I was never very good at to begin with.

I told my Dad the other day that I lost my Muse. She used to dance around my dreams and my wakefulness constantly and I couldn't make her go away. Now I struggle to unearth sparks of creativity. He tells me that happens to those who study medicine. Then how come I know so many eloquent medical students and doctors, and I seem to be the only one who can no longer dazzle my imaginary audiences with word play?

Muse, please come back. And then maybe something will have come of the month of June.