Late Night, Last Night

by deb y felio

Last night from slumber I awoke

the muse had landed on my bed

I floundered for pen and paper near

to record all she said

beautiful words, poetic form

inspired with angelic voice

in the dark I scribbled fast

trusting memory - not a choice

page upon page until no more

I laid down my soon dried pen

exhausted from creative work

I slept to dream again

In the cool of morning light

the pages lay in wait

I picked them up, began to read

what came to me so late

the beauty of the muse’s gift

the melody once sung

was given to me and I wrote

apparently in tongues

for what I saw in light of day

instead of inspiration

was some foreign alphabet

in need of interpretation.