Muse Poem by Kewayne Wadley
Muse
When I look at her.
I don't see color.
Not the tone of her skin, nor the clothes she wore.
She was a woman. Held upright within her own atmosphere.
She wasn't to be made of material possession.
With one look you'd know why she was regarded as every artist's muse.
But if you'd ever speak to her without regard to which aerosol
imitated her best.
She'd reply she just longed to be
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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8/28/2026 7:15:51 AM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
