Addressed To the Muses

Give me my pen and feed my heart with muse, And I shall write until the night transforms Into the morning, when the earth imbues And quakes with spirits of the sleeping worms. I’ll glean as gleans a reaper golden grain Sweet dreams, which with some mystic magic swell And set my spirit and my burdened brain Free from the fleshy temples of their cell. My quill would spill sweet words as if it’s dew Or some ambrosial nectar from a fount In Heaven’s reign. My tongue shall throb anew With gilded glory. Evermore I’ll mount Into the cloudless climes of deep midníght Just give me paper and the will to write! © 2014 Gleb Zavlanov