As I emerged the musty isles
so enchanted by her smile
my heart racing all the while
as Tasha’s charm beguiled
the muse in me. 

“Are you a poet?” she inquired
“I write poems.” as she admired
each new book that I’d acquired
and I became fondly inspired
by her smile. 

I stood diaphanous in a trance
embraced illusions of romance
and imagined Tasha in a dance
entwined in dalliance at the chance
her quill in hand. 

As I collected my new treasure
this young poet now my measure
knowing it would bring me pleasure
to pine for her in leisure
now my muse. 

The piercing gales of infant winter
stung my face like spicy ginger
her aroma slightly lingered
a welcome fragrance to remember
evermore.

That night as I departed
the book store broken hearted
from the message she imparted
and melancholy that she started
now a poem.

The crescent moon at twilight
smiling down upon me bright
and I with new found appetite
rush quickly home to write
of Tasha’s smile.

And every evening when I view
the smiles in crepuscule hues
I can see the youthful muse
of Tasha in the crescent moon
imbued.