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They Call Me a Writer
October 5, 2013
Every morning sunrise
I leap out of bed
Open my eyes
To the new things ahead
My imagination is craving
My pencil shivers
knowing it's amazing,
What it's about to deliver
All is now hushed
Neither a pitter nor patter
Then comes a a rush
And nothing else matters
With my own special skill
I create something new
In my head, it's real
Every detail thought through
I've drained my mind, it's now much lighter
I have many jobs but they call me
A writer
© Rosalee M., Lowell, MA
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