Fear Not Time Ladies

The Muses

For all my lovely, aging Muses…

Perhaps a Muse,
Erato, Melpomene,
Rhiannon, Ceridwen,
any of them,
becomes, one day,
a dowdy
late middle-aged
woman with
muffin-tops,
stuffed into
yoga pants she
should know better
than to wear
in public.

No matter.

Even frumpy,
she remains
divine, alluring,
luminescent,
numinous,
beyond the
constraints of
mundane fashion,
the dulled edges
of mortal flesh.

Still, she
whispers
beauty into
the awestruck
poet’s ear,

forever magic,
forever powerful,
forever a goddess.