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 a 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 need to lay my thoughts on paper down,
Your spirit dancing with me in my sight
That I entranced will view until 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.
