You will reach for me
But you
Will not find me
You will call for me
But
I will not hear
I am your Muse
And in my mouth
I seal every
Winsome thought
And every
Perfect
Word
Outside the birds are.... um, they're...oh, what is it that birds do !?
© Janet Martin
Dear Janet,
ReplyDeleteWords are so often a poet's solace and consolation. To soothe and settle the restless spirit that soars in flights of ecstasy and plain wonderment to the deepest depths of anguish and turmoil.It is perhaps the poet's lot to express in words some of man's deepest joys and sorrows.
we feel with you in your poems.
stirred. Your words reach the heart.
appreciating you wordlessly ... sending you wordlessly all the time ....:)
Oh Grace,
ReplyDeleteYour comment is a beautiful poem!
'To soothe and settle the restless spirit that soars in flights of ecstasy and plain wonderment to the deepest depths of anguish and turmoil.It is perhaps the poet's lot to express in words some of man's deepest joys and sorrows.'
YES! I so. appreciate. your words. Esp. the wordless ones:)
Thank-you, as always~
You're ending made me laugh--great piece....and oh to reach for the muse and not be able to find it--scary!
ReplyDelete