Taking a long and hard-sought look,
Somewhere in the depths of me,
I know she's in there waiting,
My muse, my inspiration...my Emily.
Sometimes I swear its like,
She's guiding my tired hand.
Urging me, to dig a little deeper,
To take up, that poetic stand.
Filling my mind with invisible words,
That my writer's heart, can clearly see.
Flooding my valley, with long dried ink,
From my muse and inspiration...my Emily.
And on days when I feel, its fultile,
That nothing makes any more sense,
I feel her presence, instructing my soul,
With thoughts, so deeply intense.
In those serene and quiet moments,
I know that what's meant to pass, shall be.
And I take her lead, following the suit,
Of my muse and inspiration...my Emily.