Poem By Linda Hepner
I am your muse ah yes ah such a man,
I sigh because, my love, you know I can...
For if I die with musehood to my name,
I shall be pleased but that is not the same
As doing what my father tall and stern
Admonished me beyond his grave to burn
Into the hard drive of my bones and brain;
I must not have this gift to waste in vain.
Oh for a will that stronger than my own
Will force my harvest once the seeds are sown.
My words were children once, who now have flown;
Words once again are children but unborn,
The poem where I wrote this still unknown,
Your verses flourish, mine are still forlorn.