This morning, in the gray light
of early winter, I was promised
a poem. 'It's waiting for you, '
she said softly. 'Look for it
...
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this poem of yours fits nicely with the theme of the next Anthology: ''Ode to the Arts''.. what do you think? ;)
Yes, I think so too. I wrote it as a fragment of thought, unfinished and rough, not a clearly thought out esthetic position but rather an immediate reaction on the poet's part to the muse's unreliability.
If I had your problems… - as my former boss used to say. Do you like your muse? Do you miss it? Ann Akhmatova said she would wish to enemy the fate of a poet. May be her muse hurt her. She said it was like a fever. It’s described in her poem: “When at night I wait her coming”.
EXCELSIOR! ;) And.. what about an introduction, too? :)