My Muse

                        My Muse



                             Sometimes, my words won't come,
                             no matter what I try to write.
                             I softly call upon my muse,
                             entreat her
                             to come to me this night.

                             I feel her warmth within the room,
                             I'm instantly at ease.
                             I sense her reading my scribbled words,
                             she knows my thoughts
                             and hears my longing pleas.

                             I feel her delicate fingers
                             upon my clumsy hand;
                             her words and phrases flood my mind,
                             things I've never seen before
                             from some far distant land.

                             I don't know where she comes from,
                             (maybe, from up above)
                             where ever it is
                             that she calls home,
                             she comes to me with love.