Peter Venable: Camena Interrupta

The measured words of poetry
   Rise round the mystic sphere,
Sift through the dirt or sing divine
   In strains that soothe or sear.

But now the stanzas halt and freeze:
   Eternity is stilled –
The dog looks guilty at the door
   The poet’s muse is chilled.

Goodbye 'the crescent in the sky
   Reaping a horde of crows,'
Holding his breath, he scoops the mess.
   The muse must hold her nose.