Muse Poem by Carolyn Brunelle
Muse
My muse is amused;
somewhat confused
that I need to sleep
waking me several times
with a thought, a rhyme
a word, or a line.
A steady stream,
night whisperings so clear;
soon I have poetry
coming out my ears.
The night is so quiet
nothing obscured,
and tomorrow
the muse will return I’m sure,
so I must learn
to calm
the creative flow,
rest in my head
and let it all go.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/3/2024 1:15:27 PM # 1.0.0.1119
