Dear Inspiration

Strum my strings O spirits Divine. With songs on your lips. I come as a reed A lyre to be made by thee. The chiming clock like the footfalls of time Her pace the hour hand mimes. I ask for thy carving knife Make purpose of this miserable life. Dear Inspiration, breathe life into this pen Or I dare no height like a one-winged wren. From thy scroll read mystic verses to me I to sit as a scribe only but to copy. Vain is wit as a yacht without oar A hapless sailor with no hope for the dreamt shore. O that your whisper would engulf my lowly soul! I will stay candle, inkwell, quill and scroll.