All have blessed me, each muse has given me gifts divine,
Except for Terpsichore, who remains elusive and has left me unrefined.
In the pantheon, I was presented as a babe, where arts converge,
yet Terpsichore, the only rhythm she gave me was the funeral dirge.

In my desire for movement, I sought to dance in delight,
With a passion for dance I twirl, yet for rhythm, I fight.
The dance makes me dizzy, though an expression of soul,
In my fervor, I ache and the ache takes its toll.

Calliope sang sweetly, now epic tales I write in stories bold.
Polyhymnia’s hymns I sing as the melody in my mind unfolds
Erato’s lyricism I compose to my lover as a sweet note,
Yet Terpsichore eludes me as I dance like a goat.

Footsteps echo in my mind but in my existence – a silent night,
I desire nothing less than a love affair with movement, pure and right.
Yet, as I reach for Terpsichore, she denies me the rhythm’s embrace,
She slips away, leaving me empty, my dance a disgrace.

Thalia laughs at my comedy, as I bring to the world humour and cheer,
Melpomene admires my tragedy as I shock the world with tales severe.
Clio applauds my records of history as I pen it with a knowing quill,
Yet Terpsichore’s dance chose to curse me and now I remain still.

In the poetry of motion, the music holds me but not the art,
I pour out my soul, but my arrhythmic body tears my soul apart.
I love dance’s grace, its sacred possession is my passionate plea,
Oh, to embrace Terpsichore in my arms, yet, she slips away from me.

Euterpe plays the music, and in my mind, harmonies entwine,
Urania gazes at stars, obsessed, in ink these mysteries I define.
But Terpsichore has forbidden me the dancer’s grace,
As I move without rhythm she keeps my steps obscure in pace.

In pirouettes and leaps, emotions ascend. To dance I implore,
yet, with each whirl, I lurch and my muscles grow sore
I weep as others waltz and in Terpsichore’s smile, a bitter truth I see,
Dance, though enchanting, will forever remain elusive to me.

All the muses have graced me with their inspiration,
Except Terpsichore, who in anger has placed me in isolation.
What did I do to anger her, that she keeps me from the dance?
I long for her blessing like a forbidden romance.

Oh, Terpsichore, hear my yearning heart’s sweetest song,
It seems, in our union you did not choose to belong.
In my youth, all of your sisters gave gifts to me, none I lack,
But alas, though I love Terpsichore, she does not love me back.