My Fantastic Muse
Whirling her truth today as a game
She brought out feelings but only in name
Tossing her wildness as a horse tosses his mane
She began to write a frantic refrain
The refrain took off in a world of its own
Making a new and more gentle poem
She was frankly startled, and tried to real it back
But it bucked and kicked, and called her a hack.
She’d had trouble before with her poetry coming to life.
But this was the most willful she’d ever seen causing her strife
Can we reel it back in? She queried her poltergeist muse.
He grinned at her unkindly with his usual subterfuge.
I will not write anything today, she said with concern.
For you muses are off-the-chain, and you don’t learn.
When she woke up the next morning lo and behold.
Sixteen poems were waiting, one was solid gold.
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