On Bards Learning How to Be Their Own Muse
A bard born to a muse is full of song,
for he imbibes on the milk of her breasts,
a suckling babe that's inspired 'ere too long,
to pen refrains, lines, and this sonnet no less.
When inspired, songs of bravery are plentiful;
and words of chivalry gallop on page
like gallant knights to damsels most beautiful:
to him, Poesy never knew a greater age!
But bards worth their weight in gold soon realize,
that one must learn how to be their own muse,
for the muse can choose to not exercise
her power (and what choice have we if she refuse?).
Like the primes, the muse leaves and disappears,
as the bard's years increase past life's hemispheres.
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