My Musing Reason

My Musing Reason

At seventy-three I find

My thoughts and writings emerge

From my mind

With hardly a surge.

Then there are times

When an unknown Source

Creates lyrics of rhyme

Like water flowing its course.

That Spirit might hover

For hours, days, or weeks at a time.

Any writer covets this Lover

With powers so sublime.

In the low country of the tall palmetto

With that Source an artist wrote

A prose, a fluid libretto

Painting life from within an encircling moat.

But at the yellowing of his physical frame,

Came a visit from his Guide.

At first acknowledging his prosaic flame

 He then said, “Come home to Me, abide.”

There is a time for everything under heaven,

For everything there is a reason.

His artistic life was literary leaven,

Never a losing season.