About A Muse Poem by Pat Czyz

My muse clad in modest attire
Unveils to my dream her flesh.
For by my lorn I lay dire
In her need, torn and threshed.

What gods to me thee assigned?
From what heaven has poured
Thy grace unto me of mankind?
Speak now lips to my ear, thy word.

In her hands held the scrolls
Waxed with seals, writ with ink
The tellings and tales of mortal souls.
She these stretched for my think.

I rose and stood to hold her arm.
Wandered we two to some hay
Soft and pillowed for us to lay
As she over me pressed warm.

No shame was here disposed
As the swans over us took flight
Without a look of guilt, this sight
Found in nature, two bodies posed.

For this I dared not pray.
Never hoped so sublime
A fate that chosing this day
Our gathering so intime.

For she gave what was unasked-
To descry delight about her brow
Fleeting glimpse forever unmasked.
-A secret other muses will never know.