There will be days
When the muses sleep late
I don’t even believe
These mythical beings be
There is a flood
A rush of blood
A cosmic alignment
The assignment suddenly becomes clear.
Who am I to suppose
That these beings come specifically to me
That they only live under my tree
Bearing fruit for these hands to harvest
The stream is infinitely wide
With access on both sides
We all swim, drink and lie
We all shine as we all hide.