by A. M. Buxman
A brief poem about writing.
|I sit in the living room in candle light,
when everyone's in bed it's my time,
I'm sure my pen and paper are in sight,
What shall it be this time,
A love story, an adventure, or a fright,
I think really hard,
And then think of that night,
Although my heart is scarred,
Things can be different when I write.