In every life is cloaked another.
Every thought conceives.
A lost and buried sigh.
In this rhymless bed sleep we mortals.Amassed in eerie desire.
YOU ARE READING
Song Of The Muses.
PoetryErato, ancient keeper of the golden arts . Whisper tales from eons lost. Remind us mortals of stories lost throughout the ages ,remembered only by you,the muses.
Awake oh Muses Nine,Sing Me A Strain Divine.
In every life is cloaked another.
Every thought conceives.
A lost and buried sigh.
In this rhymless bed sleep we mortals.Amassed in eerie desire.
