Eight muses of mine have come & gone
each sang a special inspired song
each showed me right from wrong

The first muse was the youngest & the sweetest
the second wiser with little sanity
the third was a special type of beauty
the fourth too special to designate
the fifth a wild loon in love's lake
the sixth was dark & without a face
the seventh led to my disgrace
the eighth muse too recent for me to know
but each brought love & certain sorrow

Nine muses fancy Zeus did create
& I have loved from one to eight
& now I wait for number nine
due here any day at any time

But all I do is abstract invalid rhymes
which only distort
my clever poetic crimes
like ignoring family for fame
or absorbing ridicule
& shame

&
Still now I listen for some news
about the proof of my fair muse