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Dec 2014
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.
elizabeth brotzman
Written by
elizabeth brotzman
598
   Sally A Bayan
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