#3

Words, constrained by form, I look to the Muse
To open my heart and guide my hand,
To show me the ways of this foreign Land,
To shake from my mind the webs which confuse,
And put forth the vision I see so grand.
For what reason do I feel so driven
To express this dream I have been Given?
From whence come these words which I have  not planned?
The touch of her, unsteady, uneven,
A flash of insight breaches my heart.
A flicker of light that brings forth a start
Then my pen moves. My point is proven.
And ever do her charms  humble me.
By your grace lady, I will always see.