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Rated: E · Poetry · Experience · #1888608
A poem about being a writer. (rhyming)

No job to be had.
No work to be done.
All night I write until digits swell
and await the utterance of the rising sun.

No literary agents
come a' knocking at my door.
No publishers jumping up and down
eager to help me make that final score.

No sleep comes easy.
No day without worry.
Query letters are sent with a rush.
but replies are in no hurry.

No end in sight.
Though I toil and write
with every ounce of might.

No answers to my question.
Will my dream come true?
No, I suppose by now
that's all up to you.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1888608