| The Muse In many tongues the words are spread And love like breath cannot be still, Ever gasping ~ seeks the thrill Spills pheromones, from heart to head. With cautious eye for revelry; Seeing that which can't be known, So yet it rests, 'fore rushing on. The balm ~ repose for certainty Soon hushed the muse will linger there, To meld with dream's enamored flame Whereas the mind forms out refrain As waning thoughts, seek fresher air. In many ways the love that's grown Unveils to us as prose or song ... Joy A. Burki-Watson |