The Death of a Wandering Muse

Her footsteps sounded softly against the dirt road— The dirt road where seedlings used to be sowed— Her bold, yet beautiful figure lay silhouetted by moonlight, But there was no one present to catch such a divine sight. Case aside was this wonderful, but wandering muse, She flew through horizons, convinced she had no use, Never did she discern her ever desperate, frantic seeker She fell into an eternal sleep, her power gone forever.