The Muse

Poem By Carl A.I.

The wind groans
and the trees talk like
Someone is being hung.
That someone is not me,
but it is my lover.
It is my muse.
Who am I to release her?
Does she not deserve to die?
I walk up to her.
She wears a crown of oak leaves
accented with acorns.
'You are better off without me, '
she says. 'Live in peace. Enjoy me for what I once was.'
She died. I lived.

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