Amidst the dull maize sunset
and the chill of soon to come night.
I wait for darkness to descend, a welcome friend.
My muse rises from depths, a whisper
...
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Completely captivated by 'My muse rises from depths, a whisper / barely audible, pressing, a hunger / that needs to be fed.' In my case, my muse screams at me, often in foreign tongues, that it invariably takes inordinate intervals of time to translate, then transcribe-that it's quite maddening, to say the least, and always when the darkness descends. I can see why you would have this framed; a sheer delight, Joyce. All my best to you, Red, Greg
Sandra and Hugh thank you both so much. I have this poem framed on my kitchen wall. I have a mozaic as a backsplash behind my sink. Red
Clarity of vision. Fine descriptive imagery. Your word picture paints itself into the reader's mind. Kind regards, Sandra
A stunning piece from beginning to end... brilliantly done, Joyce! Brian