Poetry by Chris Ledbetter
In the late evening
the moon, beaming
shines through the bedroom window,
casing the room in glowing lines,
the muse of poetry appears.
Dressed in shadows with the scent of night
murmuring softly my hopes and fears
that linger at the edge of sight,
her stay is only ever brief,
just moments, or so it seems
before she’s gone as quick as a thief
to leave me to the Muse of Dreams.
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