The Old Man's Muse

I saw a poet the other day
Just sitting with his muse
He said he's getting too old to write
So he gave her to me to use

She was filled with inspiration
But mostly filled with tears
She missed the poet she used to inspire
She was his for sixty-five years

I tried to write a poem that day
But the words came out all wrong
My muse was always distracted
She'd been with him so long

Again, I passed my poet friend
Just sitting on the street
He looked like he lost the love of his life
He was tired and wouldn't eat

I told him I couldn't use his muse
She was his to do as he will
That old man began to smile
As he dusted off his quill

Reviews

[JUSTWRITING]

A wonderfully moving and beautifully written piece, I almost felt as if I were actually part of their lives. An absolutely touching piece that reiterates the fact of life in all writers - why do we write? Kudos!

[WyndnWatr]

Bravo. Anyone who has ever had a muse understands this on an emotional level. Well written.

[Coyote Poetry]

A very good tale in the poem. One man muse can't be shared. I like the flow of the tale to the very good ending. Thank you for sharing the excellent poem.
Coyote

[Whiskurz]

Thanks again my friend....Whisk

[Brandon Wilson]

Bravo Sir, Bravo

[J Todd Underhill]

What a wonderfully written poem, I have to admit that I was enthralled by the story and feel this is a master work! Thanks for being my friend and sharing this open.