Formerly she’d sneak into my room,
and whisper things that only I could hear.
She‘d provide a fortunate turn of phrase
And I would craft the lyric sweet and clear.

I would praise her for her golden hair,
those sensuous lips, those cerulean eyes.
Yet she would often fool me, even then,
by entering my thoughts in a disguise.

We had such power, then, my muse and I
to infuse a verse with truth and light.
We once were lovers on red satin sheets,
Crying out in mutual delight.

Those were days to treasure then.
Some things we take for granted we should not.
We once made love beneath the bowl of stars.
This I remember, but she seemingly forgot.

These days now I seldom hear her voice.
Her beauty she reveals to others’ eyes.
I think she will no longer sing to me.
Her truths by others’ pens will be inscribed.