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
Read 226 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.
Allen
2022-04-02


Uncle Meridian The PoetBay support member heart!
Been there!

Praises from this address for the cadence and shape of this fine poem.
2022-04-02


AFRODITE STATHI
So true.Perfectly written.Bravo.An awesome ode to the Muse.
2022-04-01


D G Moody
Alas, alas, thou doth speak in truth; so, fellow poets harken to these wise words, and not disdain the muse.
2022-04-01


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.
2022-04-01