The Muse

She is a most elusive bird,

     She comes and goes at will;

She does not make a breath of noise,

     Her step is very still.

Her visits are untimely too,

     Perchance at break of day,

Or when the midnight hour has come

     And sleep should hold full sway.

She comes, aye, like a thief at night,

     To catch me unawares;

When notebook and one’s fountain pen

     Are down three flights of stairs.

But when one’s cocked and primed for work,

     All ready for the fray

‘Tis then she will not favor us,

     ‘Tis then she stays away.

“O, Muse, why play at hide and seek?

     Why tantalize one so?

Why don’t you come and stay awhile,

     And help our rhymes to flow?”

And then she gathers up her skirts,

     And does a little jig,

Then goes off into space and leaves

     Us once again to dig!

July 6, ‘10

Sat. July 9