Through the muse,
Meanings are gotten to rotten,
To life before spoilage,
Before the depletion of the up sphere.

Through the muse,
Songs are made,
Stories are worked to the heart,
And earth testify to their imports.

Through the muse,
Memories are captured,
Like the pictorial shots
In words, bringing images
Beyond the confine of the pen,
Beyond the cause or coarseness
Of ones dear realm-
The brain.

(c) Abdulhafeez T. Oyewole

ARTWORK- Betsy Van Die (Celest)