MUSE IS BORN

In the quiet
when you are quite
alone.
Except breathing
thinking
of one.
Who shares you
stares at you
Lonely.
Mind spinning
like walking
in a spinney.
Of hazel and birches
memory smirches
defences.
Tumbling down
the autumn gown
descends.
Leaving purity
skin and bark inurity
naked denatured.
Soaking in the dew
taking in anew
newly inspired.
Poetry muse
I may use
acquired.

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About David

Devonian writer
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