And should I deny your existence
with your eloquent whispers
murmuring in my ear while you peer
over my shoulder, what then?
Will you with haste forsake me, leave me again?
With naught but blank paper and pen?
You are a mercurial wench about our poetry;
I am but the instrument to pen our plight.
©2019 Linda Lee Lyberg
Author’s Note: Kerry is hosting at the garden today and has asked us to write a 55 word poem about our muse. I chose to have a conversation with my muse today.
Imaginary Garden With Real Toads: Micro Poetry: I am my own Muse