A Poet’s Muse

 

Sat with a cup of coffee, freshly brewed

I was happy that there was no one to intrude.

For now I could use some time

To let my thoughts take a climb.

Pen and paper in hand

Words I scribbled down without command.

 

Of stars that twinkle in the night sky

And of a mother’s lulling lullaby.

Of meadows and lush greens around

And of a church bell’s tintinnabulations that resound.

Of the tales of love and heartbreak

And of conversations by the lake.

 

Of places and people I wrote

Their essence I tried best to connote.

Over cherished memories and dreams I ponder

Between reality and illusions I let my mind wander.

I let my imagination run loose

And that’s where a poet finds his muse.

 

© 2018 Mabelle, In A World Like This

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