I stare at my Muse's deft words
So clear So smooth So full of
Life.
Her nimble quick fingers summon gods.
They soothe her pain and strife.

My Muse's works are never done.
With every breath they
change.
Happy-sad-sad-happy.
She lives and they rearrange.

My Muse's words are not written.
They leap from her soul to her
page.
Bubbling brooks of untold stories,
feelings trickle and show no age.

My Muse has never left, though
I sometimes refuse to
listen.
But now I hear her, loud and strong:
She's sent me on a Mission.

To sing her songs and play
her tunes. To open hearts
and ears.
To tell of her story (and of mine)
and do so for years and years.

I doubt my Muse will ever
leave, for she is
within me.
But if I ever forget to listen,
dear Muse, please please forgive me.