Where Is My Muse
Where is my muse?
won’t she come out
to dance a little dance
in between the lines
and underneath the words?
Or has she grown tired
of the minstrel’s tongue,
dancing in circles upon the page?
wish that she would say,
perhaps she’s forgotten
the way we used to play,
or perhaps her silence,
is the answer to my dismay.
Copyright © Ian Kilfoil | Year Posted 2011
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