My nighttime muse has left me so it seems
Though passioned fire still smolders in my breast,
While silver moonlight buoys your face in dreams
To taunt my fervor with that visage blessed;
Black alchemy has turned my pen to lead —
What demon dare deny sweet voice of mind?
Where lies that nectar that proud ardor fed,
What dram shall coax parched lips of praise to rhyme?
I sit in silence swaddled by the night,
No will to lay my thoughts on paper down,
Your spirit dancing with me in my sight
Where I entranced will hearken’til harsh dawn;
Yet if my muse is gone, no more to see …
We’ll dance at dusk wherever you might be.
© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.