Oh, my muse! Without you these gardens,
Though spring still comes after frosty winter,
And flowers still bloom, in corners and center.
But there's none to admire daisys alongside,
No-one to watch bluebells and remnicise.

Oh, my muse! Without you these roads,
Though they are still bustling with public,
All moving, to and fro, healthy and sick,
But my walks are far from straight path,
Staggering forward with only little faith.

Oh, my muse! Without you these days,
Though I wake up and follow my routine,
And watch some old and some new scenes,
But somethings always missing from the play,
The lead whose entry seems to be delayed.

Oh, my muse! Without you these nights,
Though Luna spreads it's silvery moonlight,
And twinkling stars still light the dark sky,
But my heart is far from being tranquil,
A slight bump and the chalice may spill.

Oh, my muse! Without you my pen,
Though it still writes whenever it is asked,
And forms phrases any when needed,
But the poems in my mind hide in dark.
For you to come, ignite them with a spark.