The Book Writer

          True authors cannot merely writers be.
          They must find themselves poets to become.
          They must make art of everything they see
          And make a song so every word does strum.
          The text must shout as loudly as a drum,
          And whisper quiet as a breeze’s tremble.
          The words must sing in chorus, ooh, and hum.
          They must in readers make a fear so terrible
That only he can calm them, in his artful scribble.

          And every single sentence of his book;
          Must be a masterful stroke of brilliant hue.
          There must be beauty with every look.
          The sky can be of black or truest blue,
          And every one must make the scene brand new.
          The darks must be so black they carry chills
          And bring upon a man a horror true.
          But then the highlights give a person thrills.
And make the reader see the Lord in rocks and rills.

          And every single word that he may write
          Must be a symphony’s most delicate note,
          And every sentence, complex chords recite.
          The melodies on melodies that float
          Shall make the lovely symphony we quote.
          The words must flow, no matter what may come:
          Whatever notes or minors they may tote.
          Readers led to dangers they run from
Then to the ending they reluctantly succumb.