It was moonrise,
I sat by my bedside,
The muse invites,
to show me its side,
Well! I briefly sigh,
mumbling to decide,
This! should I write,
or, shouldn’t I write,
The mind scares,
but how will it look like,
A judgment arise,
to the inspiration that arrives,
The heart opens,
…, be gentle and kind.
A Little Green Bell 