Before I could return to writing prose,
the Muse kidnapped my pen by decree
Most days fully structured and measured on end,
but tonight
—words yearned to be free
Each story cerebral, its words to describe,
new plots marching forward in time
With fables inscribed for others, not I,
my true voice
—wanting only to rhyme
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February,2016)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem