“The water does not flow until the faucet is turned on.” ~ Louis L’Amour
You are not alone on this wind-rush march,
Itinerant ink scribing papyrus
Upon demands and deadlines flaming torch;
Or over ant-hills disturbed omnibus.
Sometimes the hour is long as day or night,
And eyes rebel to yawning, sleeping tide;
But you cannot haul sail in a ship’s flight
For the ink must flow where shadows abide.
When it is not by your will, but dharma
This oeuvre fest embellishes your mind
Deep in all your literary karma;
And unfurls all your constraints free from bind.
Where vista cravings for horizons tempt,
Our writing rhapsody must be well spent.
