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The Muse

Eyes like the fleeting glimpse of the sun

Caught in a piece of broken mirror,

Never really revealed in the words,

In images, in little gestures.

 

Frail and persistent, a heart of swan,

Two tender wings of glacial whiteness

In the lake of peaceful vanity,

Ripples of emotion down below.

 

What lies behind the shyness of lines

Will still be unreachable and yet

So beautiful, etherieal  thought

Of the muse of secret poetry.