I wish I could ask you
How does it feel like
To have poems written about you...
Do you also look at birch trees,
and think you could grow leaves?
Do you seek shelter from rain,
believing you could make a better storm than this?
When I call you beautiful in so many ways
Which one do you chose to believe, if any at all
and does it ever add some bounce to your step
or do you slouch instead
since attention from someone unwanted
feels the same as
indifference from someone beloved?
I know what being a poet is all about
But for once I wish I'd know
how being a muse feels like...
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