On The Poet's Muse

For you, my muse, these lines I compose.
Thy scent, how sweet, more so than a rose.
Eyes shining with the excitement of a child.
Passion beyond compare, no fire shall run more wild.
A voice more beautiful than any siren's song.
Comforting arms freely offered when my day is long.
To thy beauty, there is no comparison known.
O love, thy love, no stronger hath been shown.
Thou art my inspiration; the meaning of all I write,
And thou art my only reason to crave another day's light.