, , , , , , , ,

This is the hour that suits me most

The time of night when I play host

To a stubborn muse who refuses to sleep

Who keeps me from my slumber deep

“Write the words”, she screams at me

Buzzing about, like an angry bee

No use arguing with this chick

Her mood swings come on pretty quick

I try to snooze, unsuccessfully

She tugs on my hair, quite like a bully

And then she lightens up her tone

She knows I need to be alone

To write the words that swirl in my head

The ones she whispered before SHE went to bed



©2016 Dorinda Duclos All Rights Reserved
Photo via Pixabay