The muse

Posted on Posted in Poetry

I hear the rush of inspiration

Flying on the breeze.

I’ve got no pen or paper;

I’ve got no time to freeze.

If I don’t catch it now, flying through the air

The story’s gone right through my head.

The warning signs are there.

A walk, a drive, rest on my bed.

It’s funny how I write this stuff

Because it’s never planned.

It comes from random thoughts

At oddest times not spanned.

Inspired by what?

The muse unknown.

It will pass through

If not wrote down.

Oft times recalled but ne’er so clear,

As that first message in my ear.

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