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elizabeth brotzman
Poems
Dec 2014
Her still pen.
My Muse is content.
She sits quietly
Watching the rain ,
petting a fat old cat
My Muse sleeps soundly.
Not a word to hear
From her frantic pen,
Or her blank pages.
My Muse is happy.
No tear laced anger
Threatening to rip her apart,
Giving birth a poet's art.
The more happy I become, the less I fill my poem book.
#happy
#content
#muse
Written by
elizabeth brotzman
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Sally A Bayan
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