My muse! Impertinent,
wayward thing!
Taunting me
on mighty wing!
Graceful she,
in bluest height,
indifferent
as I try to write.
I watch her float,
from earth unbound,
while I, like stone,
am stuck to ground.
In those clouds
vocabulary,
eloquence
extraordinary.
She could bring it
to cloddish me,
but prefers to soar
metaphorically.
Oddments 
July 13, 2020 at 11:59 am
Ain’t that the truth, and it’s really ticking me off. 🙂 Love this, Maureen.
July 13, 2020 at 12:12 pm
Thanks, Judy! It ticks me off too! What good is a muse if she’s always off somewhere ignoring us?
July 16, 2020 at 8:06 pm
I perhaps shouldn’t confess this made me laugh but it did. I wonder if humans are equally infuriating to their muses?
July 16, 2020 at 8:18 pm
Of course not! Being a rational, peace-loving, altruistic species given to protecting its environment, humans couldn’t possibly be infuriating to their muses! (And it’s OK to laugh. My muse does.)