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My Muse you are; you I truly adore,
But I love you not, for I feel you not,
I feel only for her, for only her I love,
She’s my love; you’re just my Muse.

Sure, she’s poor, yet she’s a beauty,
A delicate flower brooks often wear,
Passers-by fear for her beauty is rare,
So she’s my love; you’re just my Muse.

A beauty in Baikal slopes I dropped;
A primrose next-door, sadly I missed,
For promises I had tempted me a lot,
Yet she’s my love; you’re just my Muse.

Though a Trojan horse you really are,
I’m faithful to you, as was Paris to her,
Ships are ready to be sailed for you,
Yet she’s my love; you’re just my Muse.

Copyright © Sept. 19, 2018, Newton Ranaweera
Image source: Pixabay

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