Reverend Allyson Szabo
The muses nine, they call to me
Their voices rise in melody
Enticing song and dance entwined
Their sweet caress brings words to mind.
But this is now, and that was then.
The muses range outside their glen.
To human beings they now bring
Attitude and waspish sting.
Amphetamines are standard fare
They pack guns, intend to scare
Young poets into writing more
And seriously they take this chore.
The world moves fast in modern times;
The muses, too, must learn the rhymes
And rhythms of this new world’s mire
Before they can hope to inspire.
neosalexandria 