2004-06-19: 5:52 p.m.

To My Muse

Here I sit, a pen in hand

But hardly able to understand

What moves you to inspire

Like orange tongues of fire?

Passion like the flames you spread

From my feet up to my head

But no one could ever trace

Your clandestine hiding place

I sit here still, a pen in hand

But still unable to understand

What impels you to design

Fabrics of words and rhyme