Inebriate of fear, I truly am,
For at my hour of reckon,
Whence all love was denied ,
She suddenly came to me,
I bid her come and there she was, ablaze in all her love.
And then she sang!
The notes so deep and long,
The most sorrowful of songs,
That all who heard it,
Were reduced to anger,
For they truly knew,
The sorrow her love accompanied.
YOU ARE READING
Song Of The Muses.
PoetryErato, ancient keeper of the golden arts . Whisper tales from eons lost. Remind us mortals of stories lost throughout the ages ,remembered only by you,the muses.
