The Muse's Call

Where now is her siren song,

My heart is filled with longing,

How can I stir my weary soul,

Without the muse’s calling. 

The pages crumble, the ink is dry,

The flame is slowly dying,

Regret weighs heavy in my heart, 

As I mourn the poet’s parting. 

Reviews

[B. Boileau]

Beautifully written. I wish I had the talent to write such short but such meaning full stuff
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