I lay me down and long to sleep, <br />Then words come tumbling instead of sheep. <br />Elusive words, that in the day <br />Lay dormant, now come out to play. <br />If you would keep until the morn, <br />And yet I’ll wake to find you gone. <br />Or, when my hands are sore intent <br />On daily chores and duty bent, <br />You words come marching by in rhyme <br />Through the hallways of my mind. <br />This task cannot be done in haste, <br />O foolish pen, it is a waste <br />For you to idly slumbering lie <br />And let those precious lines go by.<br /><br />Adeline Foster<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-writer-s-dilemma/
