My Muse Is Gone

My  muse has flown,
like flighty faeries often do.
Left me with a dried up pen
and a pocket full of 
other people's words;
packed her bags
and hitched a ride to Florida.

She doesn't swim,
her wings get waterlogged
and then she can't fly.
She's probably visiting family 
— not her own —
perched un-noticed
on a comfortable shoulder,
drinking in laughter and conversations
that I can only imagine.
 
I suppose I can't blame her,
it's pretty cold here these days
and I'd have gone with her 
if I could,
but she'll be back,
and maybe she'll bring  
some enchanted words with her
when she returns.

If she does, I'll know 
exactly where to find them.