Book . . . . . .
Pen . . . .
Paper.
I curl up with a paperback
And read quietly for hours
Laboriously I scratch Ideas
My brow spouts cold sweat showers
I yawn and set my book down
The story puts me fast asleep
I struggle over the sentence
I've been wording for a week
I crease my brow in thinking
The story grasps my full attention
My hand cramps as I speed write
My own adventure weaves suspension
I fly in freedom winging
As the story sweeps blue skies
My fingers drag enduring
Try to keep the writing alive
It's easy just to read away
And enjoy a sea of words
But when it's my pen scratching
I create my own bright world
I can't decide the ending
In a book or play I like
But I make my own adventures
When I find te time to write.
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