Hunched over the worn cypress desk
In the dirty yellow light
Trying to arrange thoughts in array
A small lithe woman, graying hair pen in hand
On the paper drops of life did lay

The mind soared to the heavens of Icarus
Ran blindly into the centaurs golden dell
Using her favorite metaphors wildly and with abandon
As dark poetry drawn from a ghost-filled well

Eyes shining with frightening excitement
The feather pen moved on its own
Stories of a thousand lost years
Through legends of Troy, Atlantis, and, Hyperborea
The roads of Gengis Ghan she would roam

Weary now of endless imagination
The ink dried the words would keep
Impish smile of triumph on her face
Reposed her mind in an enchanted sleep


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