To the missing Muse

To the missing Muse

You scattered crumbs upon the ground

I fell on them like a wild bird

Receiving them as a banquet

Devouring them as if they were a feast fit for a queen

Is it any wonder that I was left hungry?

Now winter curls around me

The scattering of crumbs has stopped

And though I see how few there were

Without them I starve