Erato is my muse--
the muse of lyric poetry,
of metaphor and simile,
of images galore.
This is poetry that brings
a tear or smile, but always sings.
The words that paint the sunset skies;
they tell of joy and wicked lies.
Here are poems of lovers, by the score.
The poet writes of love that's won
and love that's lost,
and love that's tossed upon the shore
and is buried by a breaker with a roar.
Of love unrequited, love benighted,
lovers this and lovers that,
lovers, lovers, love, love, love...
until it becomes a crashing bore,
and Erato cries, "No more! No more!"
Erato is my muse--
the muse of erotic poetry,
the poetry of lust and sex
and how our passions soar.
And so erotic poems I'll make
if this will keep my muse awake,
for she is jealous and complex
and always keeps a score.
I'll write of the lusts of man and mate
in verses that will titillate,
for I have learned I must not abuse
the patronage of my vain muse.
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