For if you are a poet’s muse, you never die . . .
Mihar Diaries . . .
In the poet’s grasp, you shall reside,
In their verses, your memory won’t subside,
A fragile vessel of mortality’s clay,
But in their words, you’ll forever stay.
Through tear-stained ink, emotions pour,
Your essence they lovingly explore,
In the depths of their soul, you reside,
A cherished muse, forever their guide.
When life’s tempests rage and shadows fall,
In the poet’s lines, you stand tall,
An eternal flame, burning bright,
Defying the depths of sorrow’s night.
They weave your spirit into each line,
In every stanza, in every rhyme,
A testament to love and longing’s cry,
In their verses, you’ll never say goodbye.
For in the poet’s heart, you find your home,
In their verses, you cease to roam,
A timeless bond that won’t untie,
In their poetry, you’ll never die