Ballad (27)

Might muse send feather to be quill,
Pulled from her angel wings?
How can I wait, when my dreams spill
From soul and my heart's strings?

Might I beg token, that heart knows
She thinks of me, at times?
How can I ask, when her smile shows
She cares at least for rhymes?

Is there a reason I should think
I'll hold her in my arms?
Have I the chance to from lips drink,
Or drown in her eyes' charms?

She is my muse- A dryad, rare
Beyond belief, but real.
How can I say how much I care,
When dreams are all I feel?

I want far more than words might earn,
To share the dawn, and night.
Yet, should I from my passions turn,
And think to hold dreams tight?

I offer all, but know I give
Only what muse permits.
I ask only that dreams might live,
And hope into heart fits.

05 Sept 2003