Were there times of thought pervasion,
I would their source be one,
For on such and such occasion,
My Muse would rampant run.
Upon a grassy pitch I sat, upon the sun’s first spill,
Upon a dancing Muse of thoughts, upon my thinking hill.
My eyes adroop in tired aching
Both squinting just to see.
A paper scrawled in ink awaking
A night of sleepless spree.
Upon a grassy pitch I sat, upon the sun’s bright thrill,
Upon a dancing Muse of thoughts, upon my thinking hill.
My writing pen and written page
Aflow from line to line;
Words a form of the Muse’s stage;
A dream atop my shrine.
Upon a grassy pitch I sat, upon the sun’s sky-fill,
Upon a dancing Muse of thoughts, upon my thinking hill.
My Muse would dance my art to life,
The heart to beating feel,
Relieve in bliss, thought nil of strife,
My Muse: a woman real
Upon a grassy pitch I sat, upon the sun to will,
Appear my dancing Muse of thoughts, upon my thinking hill.