Dishevelled Feathers

I am ready to write tonight With great spirit, But it comes with its dishevelled feathers And prevents me from writing, I stop, After a while I feel It has disappeared, So I try to write again, But again it appears From the mysterious corner With its untidy feathers And hinders me severely, So I stop again, This incident happens repeatedly, Still I don't give up, I wait and wait patiently and cleverly, Finally with its tired and exhausted feathers, It falls asleep at midnight, Then I clearly listen to the pure and pleasant music from my poetic soul, That's what I always want And that's what every poet wants, Soon I realise It's my time now to swing with great ease, I begin to proceed farther and farther Like a free-flowing river.