Muse Visits
by Helen Heavirland
Muse slipped in the door.
"I have a wonderful idea!" she whispered.
She zipped down the halls,
Turned right through my office door.
"Wonderful idea," I pondered,
"Must make a note."
I finished my chore,
Headed for the typewriter
And tripped over routine.
He screamed at the insult
Of being scattered about.
"I have a wonderful idea!" Muse hollered.
Seemed to take forever
To pick up routine's pieces
And pile them in some semblance of order.
I skirted the stack,
Tiptoed to typewriter.
Muse had slipped away.
A wadded tissue lay by the typewriter,
Damp, as though she had wiped tears.
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