O Muse, My Muse!

O Musette! O muset! our fearful count is done,
The PC has weather'd every block, the prize we sought is gone,
The goal is near, the tap I hear, the characters complaining.
While follow thoughts a slow wheel, the body slowly wearing.
           But O muse! muse! muse!
              O the bleeding count of word
                 Where on the page my wordcount rises
                      Of repetition assured.