Loving and trusting go hand in hand

Because love without trust is nothing but sand

A trust betrayed could undo what’s been done

And shatter a friendship that’s been hard-won


A Muse of some sort is necessity

for a poet to reach past the norm

The muse itself takes a number of shapes

The best of mine takes female form


Inspired to the point that this poet has trouble

in keeping up with the flow

and can only snatch bits and pieces

as the images come and go


That’s a good thing, not bad, for the poet

When he finds himself riding the flow

The result is immeasurably better

than something pedantic ’bout snow


The poet trusts the Muse to deliver

the path to where beauty lies

While the Muse trusts the poet to be prudent

About just what it is she supplies.