Ars Poetica: Muse

Calliope, Erato, Polyhymnia.
Inquisitrix triplets,
how cruel you can be.

This servile pen,
bound and straining,
would leap to please you,
if only you would allow it.

I would gush fountains for you
at your lightest caress.

Such privileges you impart:
my tongue could rule the world,
could bend patriots and priests to their knees,
but your merest neglect
leaves me flaccid, impotent,
cowed.

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