The Muse

A cold winter's day, Then long, drawn-out night: Hot coffee is brewing, Night creatures are stirring. Staring at paper, Pen clutched in hand; A chill in the air, The Muse is at hand. All around me lies chaos, Texts, tweets, and twitters; Hunkered down grimly Midst couplets and critters. Now starting, now stopping, Words like corn popping; Revising, inserting, rewording, Deleting, restoring--- The Muse gently snoring. The hour's grown late, In Muse-less night; As I lay on my pillow, So many poems to write.

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Line Gauthier

Date: 8/14/2018 11:37:00 PM

Delightful, Gershon.

Gershon Wolf
Date: 8/15/2018 4:00:00 PM

Thanks, Line! I rather like it myself, but I see that only you and Susan Ashley seem to appreciate this one... Oh, well ... That's the beauty of Poetry Soup: It's where the rubber meets the road, as the saying goes. ~ gw

Susan Ashley

Date: 2/13/2018 8:59:00 PM

Oh yes Gershon! I can totally relate. I'm glad I'm not the only one.. Sometimes our muses like to take the night off and go to bed early :)) A great write and a pleasure to read! Warmest wishes. ~Susan

Susan Ashley
Date: 2/14/2018 4:26:00 AM

Thank you for your kind words my friend. I'm looking forward to your wondrous poem as we speak.. :)) warmest wishes to you always..

Gershon Wolf
Date: 2/13/2018 9:58:00 PM

Ah! I was hoping to get a rise from a fellow poet with this one...And I got a bonus, as the kind words have come from you, a true practitioner of the craft whom I look up to and someday hope to approximate. Thank you so much, and G-d bless! ~Gershon (P.S., Try "To Carve a Temple," coming soon...)