Walk with Muses

One chosen friend, so gentle, wise, and kind—
She walks beside me, voice both strong and clear.
Her words cut through the shadows of my mind,
A song that lifts the weight I used to bear.
She threads her stories softly through the air,
And guides me forward where the silence breaks.
Her presence steadies all I cannot share—
And in her light, the heart at last awakes,
To find its burdens eased, its spirit free.

Her wisdom speaks in glances, quick and true,
To one who listens, drawn to her bright flame.
She wakes the bard, as dawn remakes anew,
And stirs all gently from the dream they claimed.
Her art’s no duty, nothing cold nor tamed—
It flows with joy, a gift she would not trade.
Her step is sure, her voice cannot be shamed;
She stands with grace, yet never seeks parade,
But offers what she has to lead the way.

Her words— naked truth, a beckoning glance
To one whose eyes already caught her gleam.
As bard arising, as if from gentle trance,
She leaves her reverie, her private dream
To serve her lord with joy, not task extreme—
A truth she would not hide nor cast aside.
She stands in modesty, a steady stream,
Prepared to lead, to speak, with righteous pride—
And offer all her art, her soul, her voice as guide.

She wears her clothes modest, like scholar’s dress,
A simple garment, humble, to abide.
Her brow is crowned with laurel’s quiet press,
And soft white locks beneath her hat do hide.
Her gaze is deep, where thoughts and dreams reside—
A mind absorbed in visions yet to be.
She seems to walk with muses at her side,
And turns from them, with gentle dignity,
To guide the soul into eternity.