The Scarlet Muse

She Stands in Beauty like a beloved dream,

The way all grace must surely seem,

And to Stay my all, with a fleeting look,

And has a face like Daffy Duck.

Just a minute that can't be right,

It's not the way I've meant this Plight;

This Poem has taken a wicked turn,

It's not the way my Heart would yearn.

My Muse has gone and so I babble,

Up an Infamous Creek without a Paddle.

This really is the final straw,

For a Muse is what a Love Poems for.

Well ;  She's had her Chips and needn't come back,

To leave me writing like a Second Rate Hack,

I'll Ring the  'Agency' for another Muse ,

One totally Loyal and will not abuse.

I need a Girl that's Stationed by,

To help through doubt and much Rely.

Now they've mentioned one, though a little Cheap,

But hopefully Gems of Prose I'll reap,

A Muse where flowered Verse was born,

And then her Spirit this Poem adorn.

But what is this they've sent my way,

A 'Unionised' Muse with Terms to lay:

Hour Long Breaks and 'Work to Rule',

Weekends off and the Festive Yule.

Three Weeks Holiday, Twice a year,

Expenses payed by Muggings here.

Did Byron or Keats have such distress;

A Miss 'Leon Trotsky' in a Frilly dress.

How can I write of a Heart laid bare,

If it's ' Clocking-Off time, and She's not there.

So please be Patient with this Sluggish flow,

Of finished Poems I'd hope to show,

But it's come to this that when I write;

I live in fear of a Muse 'On Strike'.

Oh-  Wayward Girl that left me so,

You weren't so bad now this I know,

Please return and grace my Mind,

With glittered Pearls to fill my Rhythm,

Stay with me when Verse begin-

And never Sing a 'Soap- Box Hymn.