Where is the gift of poetry born?
Why does it spring out of me
Can it be predicted
Can it be controlled
Can it be foreseen
Can I give birth over and over
Words dropped on a page
Is there reason
Is there rhyme 
Does it matter
In the timeless time
My muse who is she
Does she leave me
Or I leave her
It is in surrender
Without care for where she leads
Only to follow
And linger
With love

© Timothy E. Wahlstrom, June 20, 2022