by Kathleen Weisgerber

Created on: July 02, 2008

A Nightly Muse

Why is it, I ask the night,
I feel compelled to sit and write
while you darken nature's world
and others, while in bed sleep curled
around a pillow or a mate;
why can I not, too, feel sate?

But, even though I question you,
I know why, and you know, too.
You make magic with the moon,
magic that does not know the noon.
For noon carries many a woe;
gotta dos and places to go.

You, night, are blessed with calm and peace.
My muse awakes when tensions cease.
She flows out through my fingertips
and even sometimes through my lips.
It's only after, I am bound
to bed to slumber sate and sound.

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