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.
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