Tulsa, OK, USA
She calls me softly with siren's song
On dreamy notes her voice echos
And even though I know it's wrong
Soon I'm in enraptured throws.
With trembling hand I take up quill
Her whisper soft upon my ear
And I cannot make my hand be still
I write to bring her ever near.
She guides my pen and warms my thought
With grace born out of inspiration,
And causes me to read what I've wrought
Out of ink and perspiration.
She takes my mind in gentle caress
Guiding me through fields of fancy
Never once feeling duress
In her embrace, my muse of fantasy.A poet's wings are strong and fair
And take them higher than most
Higher than some would even dare
With the muse as their hostess.
How can I deny my deepest call
My burning in the night,
When I can simply give my all
Every time I write?
Once I was brilliant, now I no longer shine, but the twinkle in my eye speaks of another time.