I am mediocre in talent, but I use it to write.
I am lacking in power and speed, but attempt to fight.
I am distracted and misguided, but I try to finish a book.
I am a lover of sights, but I hardly like to look.
I hate to be confined to a certain number of words,
For, when given a limit to my thoughts, they come suddenly in herds.
But like shy, little sheep, they flock slowly,
And as a modest writer, I think them all lowly.