I wait for her, she's nowhere in sight,
can't be coaxed out into the filtered light.
She's moody and unpredictable, I'm vexed at her ways,
I long for her to come home, just for a moment to stay.
If only I could lock her up in my mind games,
too swift to let me catch even a glimpse some days.
When she does come, it's always like the very first time,
I play her like a violin concerto while she's still mine.
And in an instant, she leaves my arms again,
no matter how hard I try to satisfy her every whim.
But I still love her more than life itself,
so again I wait for my inspiration, feeling bereft.