To The Muse; An Old-Fashioned Poem2
You took my hand within your own
the leftward one that grips the lyre
fetched a dropp of lyric fire
spread the mead my tongue upon.
Then did you my lips unchain
drew me closely to your knee
and dropped the seeds of harmony
in the furrows of my brain.
Said 'Child, you shall die
but if, by chance, these kernals root
blossom, come to erly fruit
your name will with the phoenix vie.'
Then you pulled pods and cuttings sharp
of roses from your mountain height
that flower in heaven's earliest light
grafted the briars in my heart.
Said 'Though the burden of your woe
is hard, this nectar has a cost-
much is gained where much is lost,
thorn blossom linked unto.'
Then often did you council me
told me stories at your feet
Time ran on, my eyes grew weak
youe feature could no longer see.
But now...
poem by Morgan Michaels
Added by Poetry Lover
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