Mischief
I am a slave to my emotions
When my muse is on the loose,
She cares not what state I'm in.
I know she does not give a hoot.
I start to write not knowing where
she plans to lead me if I dare.
Back in time to my broken heart.
Or leaping forward to a fresh start.
Often she's in her impish mode.
At times like those I really scold.
Occassionally she's hot and bothered,
saying things she knows she oughtn'd.
She plays with words and loves to rhyme.
Mixing and matching until they chime.
To think that I had lost my voice.
With a husband who removed all choice.
My poor little muse suffercating inside.
Go ahead Precious, I've turned the tide.
09/04/2016
A traditional four line rhyming poem with a little twist added.
For MISCHIEF contest.
Copyright © Jean Murray | Year Posted 2016
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