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Lost Muse by Wintry River Sunset

    No eloquent soliloquy

    escapes the blur of wine this day

    no woodwind corps of troubadours

    peace my soul with flawless scores.

    No spring wind chimes in fragrant climes

    caress my ears in four-four time

    the sounds of grace have been erased

    oh, how I long for their replace.

    No feathered touch of feathering brush

    breathes a life to an evening thrush

    the canvas fades, the inkwell dries

    immortality thrashes and dies.

    Velvety moonlit ponds and brooks

    Quench the modern melancholy

    Of electric brains near insane

    From consumeristic folly.

    No summer’s airs ease my cares

    the words seem weak, a pauper’s share

    the poet’s breeze begins to seize

    now still, once rustling autumn leaves.

    MaxS 1998