Dreams dance elegantly upon the silver
moon beams that tumble over her window
In that moment before the poet wakes the
stars imbue a spark deep in her thoughts.
She wakes ready to write, slender fingers
declicately grip her quill.
She begins to write creatring her next work
In a trance like state her hand floating across
the parchment effortlessly.
Like a painter her words draw a picture and if
you look closely you will catch a fleeting glimpse
of her heart.
She stops but a moment to give a satisfied
The story she tells comes to life with every
word she writes.
She knows that this peice will be done in just
a little while.
She tells of fairies, dragons, and of heroic
Finally it is complete and her blue eyes look
over it with pride.
And she sends up a silent thank you to the
muse of the darkest night.