Tribute To Trixie

Trixie takes me and shakes me and twirls me about. I am helpless, at her mercy, I don’t even shout. Her ideas are ridiculous, whimsical and fine. I take out a pencil, hoping I can write down a line. Trixie is my muse and she puts up with none of my think. She throws out things in a frenzy; I do not even blink. I stop writing to draw a dragon, a faerie, a clown and a goat. She throws on a pig’s face and begins to blatantly gloat. I am at Trixie's mercy; she gives me no voice or leeway. I do her bidding, she is flat out ready to play. She jerks me and throws me and zings me to France. I dance back to try to regain my soul, willing to dance.