The muse

Is a strange creature

Howling down from the sky,

And gently flowing across your cheeks.

Many have tried, to capture her essence

To contain and submit her power,

Only to watch her gradually escape,

Like water falling from a clenched fist.

Trusting in God and trusting the path,

Is divine sublimation of the curious kind,

To the ever elusive and cautious muse,

As she warily eyes the door you left open,

Wondering whether she should come in.

Like an old friend not seen in many years,

The muse shall enter, without warning or a knock,

And sit down for tea.

All one can do, is not to get excited

Not to feel resentment, relief or fear

As she confers the blessings of her spirit

Upon our hungry souls.