The Flower of Verse as a Weaponry

If my verses are weapons so be it.

Did I ask them to come here unheeded?

When they knocked on my temples I ignored them.

But as water seeks its level their grandeur

Would not disappear with their afterwards

"Don't bother me now.  I'm preoccupied."

Doubly their insistence would continue.

"We are not done with you yet said the Muses,"

One seemed a bit shier than the others

who though they were kind were also abstruse

while she merely handed me a wheel.

It spun from my hand a flower in bloom

Silken and green as it grew changed its hue

and in the palm of my hand it was woven











This Sonnet is a Fictional Work. Any perceived, apparent, or implied relationship to entities or persons is coincidental.