Muses

I muse on muses that have come and gone The inspiration I have loved and lost Those whom I hate, then, some have still seemed fond And others yet have sadly become sauced Of all, not all, but still there were a few I chose to leave in quiet tears of joy The frost ne’er melts as if there were no dew And others yet had never seemed so coy Perhaps the day will come my way too soon When I’ll be struck again by Cupid’s dart If not by luck it surely will be doom And yet again the Brain will yield to Heart While free to write I find myself with use I’ll stop again once I have found a muse