O, MUSE

                    I've never formally invoked my Muse,
                    But, rather, she’ll just whisper in my brain,
                    Suggesting some idea I might use
                    Or novel notion I might entertain,

                    Then once my train of thought is on its track
                    And steaming down the line toward vistas new,
                    I feel the billows blowing from my stack
                    As widening visions roll into my view.

                   Now, past the midpoint of my destined course,
                   I try to apprehend where I shall end,
                   Soliciting assistance from the Source
                   On whose most bounteous blessings I depend.

                        A couplet’s now what I’ll ask her to send,
                        Since that is how a sonnet ought to end.

*