At the advice of some writer’s I know, I decided to write about my inability to “see” my muse. Here is the result.
Fair of hair and soft pale skin
Never know what mood she’s in.
Sparkling eyes and soft full lips
Always leaves me rhyming tips.
Filling my soul with words so sweet
No greater friend could you ever meet.
Fickle one, who left me here
Abandoned me to drown in fear.
We use to share our joys and dreams
You filled my mind with wondrous schemes.
Will you ever come again
And write with me my wandering friend?