Mutable inscrutable muse of mine,
how you may shapeshift over time.

Tonight you were the Pegasus
and galloped up toward storied stars.

Yesterday you smote the ground:
a brazen bolt of striking light.

Last week you swayed by way of song
to orchestrate such memories.

Last month you danced around the moon
while comets swayed and planets swooned.

Tomorrow? No, I cannot say.
Perhaps you're waiting in the clay.