His Muse

October 28, 2007
She flits around,
Like an anxious butterfly
Her poor soul is forever
Trapped in time.

Day by day
He bends over
A mahogany desk,
And frees imagination
Onto sheets of yellow paper
While she hovers over his shoulder
And whispers inspiration into
The eaves of his mind.

She smiles,
Laughter in her coral eyes.
Her shoulders shake
And a giggle escapes her rosy lips.

She is
His Muse.

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