She builds me up
When I'm feeling low
No need to think
The words will flow

Sometimes I giggle
At the lines we share
Did I write

My muse is dressed her best before the dawn
And smiles for me in early morning light.
Her hair flows fiery crimson ‘cross

Adrift

Adrift,

Alone,

Floating on a sea of words,

I cannot sink.

I cannot fly.

The waves. e'er tossing to the sky,

My muse,

Precious visitor.

When bless'd with finding' ones own muse,
one cannot help, but beam with joy,
no greater gift, will writers

‘Twas only when I stumbled that
I saw the forest ‘round,
Dark shadows overbranching, reaching,
Grasping with