My Undecided Muse

[Sptfyr]

My muse, she is a fickle bird
her songs stretch far and wide.
she often sings of many things
her real voice she hides.

With poet's beak, she pecks out words
that soothe or stir or stab.
Her silver tongue can move your soul
or cut you with its jabs.

She'll scratch and sketch away the day
with talons of graphite.
Her nimble feet are made for clay;
she sculpts throughout the night.

Her water color tinted plumes
are such a lovely sight.
She'll paint the oceans and the waves
with rays of spectral light.

With silken oils from downy hues
She'll paint her lover's face
and touch on every part of him
with subtlty and grace.

Sweet William sits among the phlox
as roses scent the air.
She works her garden masterpiece
with poise and savoirfaire.

Since every art appeals to her,
It's hard for me to choose
which craft is most appealing to
my undecided muse.

[DonDi]

Yes, I loved this one when I read it on YA, and it still enthralls my mind.
Sweet William reminds me of an old song called Barbra Allen, where she sings "Sweet William died for me today, I'll die for him tomorrow"

On William's grave grew a red red rose,
On Barbra's grew a green briar.
They grew and grew to the old church tower,
Til they could grow no higher.
And there they tied in a true love knot,
The rosebush and the briar.

A beautiful tragedy from a very long time ago.

Almost as beautiful as your poem.

[Sptfyr]

Wow...that is beautiful. Thank you for sharing that with me.  Big Hugs, Dondi.

[Shad]

Man, the imagery in this was fantastic hon, you have grown so much *^_^*

I'll shall be back for more <3

[Sptfyr]

Thank you, Shad...this means a lot as I consider you a spectacular writer.