I need no guidance from the Sisters Nine.
My love, you are my sempiternal Muse,
whose charm gives lives to listless lines of mine,
with ceaseless spring of wit my pen infuse.
I look beyond the stars to seek the truth
no more, for you transcend eternity.
Nor do I praise perfection ‘gain, forsooth,
all beauty lie in your ubiquity.
What more dare I ask from my vestal maid?
Hence you’ve bestowed this fool so quick a mind.
I’d rather for a happy moron trade,
retrieve my heart which once to you consigned.
Alas! For what my words would be of use
If you can’t, nay, won’t be my love, my Muse?
2017/2/14
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