Errato Gown In Blue

In dead of night when dreams possess the mind,
You poets soundly separate yourselves
From mundane chores to seek what you can find
By way of inspiration, words on shelves,
A line to start a poem, a rhyme or two.
Abscond you will with treasured verbal gold
That paves the streets of dream, their flowered dew.
Awake, you race to pen what dreams have told.
Erato, Muse in gown of blue, I stand
Prepared to aid impoverished poets write
Your hearts in metered verse, a helping hand
So poems from dreams can climb up to the light.
I place word kisses from the muse you serve
Upon your lips: an honor much deserved.

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