Inspiration

She flits around, fickle and quick
Like bees among flowers, like butterflies;
Hopping from petal, from each she picks
The sweetest of honey from open minds.

I saw a flower touched by her hand
bear the ripest of fruits from its bud,
Who would have though such sweet a fruit
could grow with me from equal mud?

Her magic touch that flits about,
that makes the writer jump with joy;
that makes depression sit and pout,
that sends the artist into endless toil.

Someday she'll see me, my outstretched door
Open to her to rest her touch;
And strike me then with blessings much
Just like the flower that I saw.

I contend with the wind now, slow it may
To make the fruits of ideas past,
Until she comes, that final day
For me to have my song at last.

------------------------------------------------

Dedicated to Johnny and his awesome story.
Thanks to people like him, Singapore's literature has a hope.

Keep going Johnny ^^