She, is my muse...
and the pretty portrait
of every morning rising sun,
My mind is filled with the thought of her,
Hiding away i try,
to avoid the noise,
bustling in the busy bloom.

Blue, is her name
nights rovings revolve around her hair,
In distress and joy,
the ploy,
is her mouth,
and the ceaseless meanderings,
makes me tranquil,
yet apprehensive
She, is my vice,
She is my muse