The Passing of the Muse

By Rhianna Nodens

I cannot stay her with my will,

Nor of her waters taste my fill.

Through meadow, over wooded hill,

Forever I pursue it still –

         The passing of the Muse.

Elusive echo of a song;

Far-distant murmur of a throng.

Her trailing wake I stumble on.

I dream of it the whole day long – 

         The passing of the Muse.

A distant pulse of lullaby –

A fleeting rainbow in the sky;

The flicker of a butterfly;

A whisper as she brushes by,

         The passing of the Muse.