The Muse
The other eve I met a muse,
her eyes peered through the night.
Of subtleties she did abuse,
and thus she’d found her might.
I beckoned her inspire me,
she turned with kind reply,
Took a seat beneath a tree,
a twinkle in her eye.
She spun a tale that’d rival bards’,
and gazed into the moon
Lost me deep with lies in cards,
on a solemn night in June.
Up she sprang into the night,
Tardy she must be.
She was not far gone out of sight,
When I realized she was me.
Copyright © Liam Wilson | Year Posted 2011
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