My Undecided Muse
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.
©2008 Dawn Slanker
Dawn Slanker
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-undecided-muse/
