Second Wind

The Poet's Muse

She's a delicate flower the poet's muse.
She can really inspire but she'll refuse
To do menial tasks or help with chores.

She will take your hand, lead you to the heights
And will gladly unveil supreme delights.
But humbler tasks she blithely ignores.

For muses don't work nine to five you know.
They're not always ready; good to go,
She won't just deliver every day.

She is delicate in her temperament.
You can hector her. She won't relent.
She won't work like that. It's not her way.

The poet's muse is a sensitive flower.
If you treat her badly she will glower.
She'll punish you, leave you head in hands.

A poem a day's not really her style.
She alas can't inspire you all the while.
She loves to delight but not to plan.

So treat her kindly, don't push her too hard
Respect how she's made. The way that she's wired.
Treat her gently, don't let her get tired.
For a poet can't work if he's not inspired.