Addressed To The Muses
Give me my pen and feed my heart with muse,
And I shall write until the night transforms
Into the morning, when the earth imbues
And quakes with spirits of the sleeping worms.
I’ll glean as gleans a reaper golden grain
Sweet dreams, which with some mystic magic swell
And set my spirit and my burdened brain
Free from the fleshy temples of their cell.
My quill would spill sweet words as if it’s dew
Or some ambrosial nectar from a fount
In Heaven’s reign. My tongue shall throb anew
With gilded glory. Evermore I’ll mount
Into the cloudless climes of deep midníght
Just give me paper and the will to write!
© 2014 Gleb Zavlanov
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