100 Words: “Sing then, O Muse, about … yourself!” What’s your muse like?
She tickles with her tongue,
And she pokes with pitchfork tines,
Enticing with seductive voice,
And wheedling with whines.She flees when I pursue her
But creeps up unawares,
Striking at most awkward times
With lightning-bolted snares.Keyboard tapping mutters
And calls to contemplate
Offspring wild and wonderful
With her to procreate.I ignore her at the peril
Of guilt and shame and woe,
For every child I didn’t birth
Right when she told me so.She’s a harsh but lovely mistress
Who weeps when I refuse,
Ah, what will-o-wisps call out to me
When sings my fickle muse.