Erato and Me

Written by: Lou Schreiberg

Why silence, Erato, old friend,
Is there a thought you wish to transcend

You call me a poet, how can that be
For my quill be a twig and parchment a tree

I paint of morning, my hopes lie ahead
My words unsure, I merely sense my tread

Yet, Erato, you say rhyme will give fire
Rendering visions with the brush of desire

May canvas be my yearn, verse my plea
That passions of life e'er be ardent in me