A writer doth spend much time all alone
Consumed with deep thought…a lonely calling
He ‘oft neglects love...which he must atone
Love offers no net to anyone falling
Alienation of her affection
A price we must pay for words written down
Cautious I’ll be, invoke circumspection
For her voice doth truly keep me flame bound
Years of blind waste have left me most bitter
Now with my words I doth have a desire
I’ll match my time so as to befit her
The flame still burns hot that heats our love fire
A writer is a solitary soul
It’s Love’s complications that make him whole
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