Image: Erato by Giuseppe Fagnini - courtesy Wikemedia Commons


Where too much of my poetry disapears into - darned Morpheus!

The Muse

She comes to me by night,

while I’m still half asleep;

stoops down beside my bed

to whisper softly in my ear

for my inspiration to meet

a line so perfect and neat,

that I will when once awake

copy down for all to hear,

but then sleep interferes;

so that when at daybreak

I no longer find her face;

as she has left and there

is nothing for me to make;

all is gone like melted snow,

leaving the line displaced,

and any memory hollow.


                                           © D G Moody 2022


Poetry by D G Moody The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 82 times
Written on 2022-04-01 at 16:45

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Griffonner The PoetBay support member heart!
I think it is safe to say you are describing what a lot of us feel... in the nicest and poetic way, of course.

Uncle Meridian The PoetBay support member heart!
Been there!

Praises from this address for the cadence and shape of this fine poem.

AFRODITE STATHI The PoetBay support member heart!
So true.Perfectly written.Bravo.An awesome ode to the Muse.

D G Moody The PoetBay support member heart!
Alas, alas, thou doth speak in truth; so, fellow poets harken to these wise words, and not disdain the muse.

MetaPoetics The PoetBay support member heart!
Very relatable!

The Muse is fickle and she does not tarry. When she arrives, poets should jump off their beds and start scribbling furiously honest.