Afraid of Trixie My Muse

Yesterday I sat down to do a bit of reading, light Trixie, my muse said you are causing me a blight All she ever wants to do is paint, cartoon or write I knew I could cause an enormous artistic fight I put my fingers out of my muse’s persnickety sight afraid of her sword and willingness to maim or smite She gets angry at the tiniest irritation or slight Truthfully, Trixie often gives me more than a tiny fright My fingers were crossed until they turned almost white I am not saying her ideas are not sound or bright But she seems to get her own way, afternoon, day and night even when I stand up to her with my five-foot two full height If she were a maiden and I was a ferocious knight I might have a say or a tiny bit of power or might but she is meticulous and mean for a tiny muse, a mite So, I quickly say my piece, and then let my legs take flight.