Musing: Love is the Muse

Love is the muse of all who write;

The love of something, sheer delight.

Love leads and guides. It finds a way

To surface as what one must say.

Love brings the truth, conveys it sweet,

In ways that ever are complete.

Love waits for no one, bursts forth clear;

May bring a smile or e’en a tear;

Love bids one come, another go,

As in its antics, it will show

It is a master of its fate;

It’s seldom early, never late;

Elusive like a butterfly,

Or like an eagle flying high.

Love moves the world and all around,

Without the need to speak a sound;

Unspoken love, oft found in word,

As written, yet may be unheard.

Love nurtures, feeds its master too,

Compelling what all writers do,

Commands to write, yes, write again.

Then write some more, like falling rain.

Love is a muse that never dies;

Fore’er and e’er, it always tries

To push that pen, command that post,

To state what it expresses most,

And that is love, the truth of self,

The muse upon its highest shelf. 

What does it mean to be musing?