My nighttime muse has left me so it seems
Though passioned fire smolders in my breast,
While silver moon lights up 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 fettered by the night,
No strength to lay my thoughts on paper down,
Your spirit dancing with me in my sight
Where I entranced will perpend ’til grey dawn;
Yet if my muse is gone, no more to see …
I’ll write in dreams ‘til she returns to me.
© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.