As he lay dreaming,
his muses were at play,
they crept into his mind –
with colorful flowers and butterflies.
So much to delight the eye,
as he slept a smile was on his face
and the sweetest melodies –
filled his ears.
The poet slept on,
unaware that a new inspiration was born,
it came in the dead of night
and left in the early morning light.
When the sun broke his sleep,
bleary eyed he sat and wondered,
where did this sudden inspiration,
fill his very heart and soul.
He picked up a pen and notepad
and it was as if his hand,
knew more than his mind
as the paper filled.
It filled with thoughts,
of meadows of wild flowers,
the highest mountains
and lovely waterfalls.
On paper was created,
a world that seemed like a paradise
and the poet read in delight –
while the muses clapped and cheered.
They had worked the whole night through
and the poet had dreamed wondrous dreams.
Now he had written from the heart –
expressing his innermost thoughts.
Oh, he knew it was the work of his muses
and he loved each one,
the one that created, the one that loved
and the one that made his dreams a reality.