The Muse Erato, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Erato, name so true, thou art my muse.
Gazing upon thy beauty motivates.
Thy every movement provides many cues,
While words from thy lips so invigorate.
My pen never tires when writing of thee,
Though thou be a far distance from my touch.
Eyes tightly closed I feel thee before me,
The vision I feel of thee is nonesuch.
Over my heart, Oh, the power thou has,
To do whatever be thy desired will,
As I am helpless captured by thy snares.
Of this shall write ‘til my body is still.
Why is it then that I must write so free?
So the future knows of my love for thee.