Muse come hither

My whole life my pencil has been my companion. Portraits. Horses. Trees. Life. Where is my pencil now? She has been replaced by pens. Ball point, ink fountain, skinny, fat. They're so silent, these new companions. So final. No happy noises, no gum eraser, no second chances. I retrieved a pencil this week and sat down with my sketchbook. But the pages stayed empty. Have I drifted so far? Is there no muse left to tame? Maybe she is waiting with my someday dreams. She is riding the someday horse on the someday 20 watching the someday sunset. Ride to me muse. Tarry not for someday.