Musings of a muse

I am a man of several skills but telling stories isn't one
I have no ballads to speak of, no tales of war or guns
though if I were, I'd speak of a girl, she's from a distant land
her pearly eyes, and heavy sighs are forever on my mind

Sometimes I wish the baby-grand, were a slave of my fingers five
I could tap the keys, the As and Gs, and make it come alive
And then I'd sing with all my heart, a song that's meant for her
and no one else; as summer bells, conch and shell bring up the overture

If I could hold my steps, with her I'd dance the night away
tell truth I must, I cant dance for nuts, no matter what I say
I'd rather watch this creature of rhythm, as she moves to the tune
And so was I smitten, bitten by the bug of love, and I thought I was immune

I wish I were a painter, a master of sketches and hue and dye
I'd capture her beauty on canvas and wood, keep it from the world's eyes
But I couldn't, her beauty is infinite, untouched by tide or time
Cant paint, cant play, but I must say, I'm lucky she is all mine