My Muse
I've wondered long and very hard,
About this thing called muse.
I never knew from whence they came,
These words I write and use.
I always thought they came from me,
To paper from my head,
But now I think that they may come,
From people who are dead.
I see some things within my mind,
These things I try to write.
Sometimes the things I see in there,
Will give me quite a fright.
I feel the ghosts of poets gone,
Have entered into me.
And if I write some pretty verse,
I think I'll let them be.
