[Click the landscape above to hear original music by the author.]

Dear Muse of music, strong and fair,

       chestnut hair and dancer's air.

That I trail You everywhere

       the Muse of poems finds unfair.

For words can't carry half Your grace.

This poor poet's lost his place.

My tongue took flight and left my face.

My pen now scribbles ne'er a trace.

So, tell me , is it wrong or right,

       this sense that I'll no longer write.

You speak not? 

Then sing, dear Muse.

You have my ear, 

       and heart, and mind, 

       and what's left of my soul,  I fear.