Bearer of the Wine
Into my mind, a muse is wont to slip.
Capriciously she comes to visit me.
She brings exotic wine that I might sip.
I then reanimate with poetry.
She glides on tiny noiseless slippered feet
to catch me unaware by night or day,
and swiftly I imbibe her liquid sweet,
for never do I know how long she’ll stay!
Too well I know before I’ve had my fill,
the drink shall be withdrawn. She’ll leave my head,
and when she’s fled, my brain grows cold and still.
I clutch the verses left me in her stead.
Forevermore, I pray, may I be graced
by her who bears the wine I long to taste.
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2012
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment