The Waiting Game by Mark MaxeyTonight I sit by the warm fire
Nestle in from the evening chill
My soul cries out as in dire
Waiting for my words to fill
The page that is always white
Too many irons in the fire
Burning the candle at both ends
No time to even lay down and sire
as if I try to melt time and bend
the page is always white
with this new year in site
I hope with my pen I will write
Too many friends on this site
Will faint if I dont write
The page is always white
01/05/2006 Posted on 01/05/2006 Copyright © 2024 Mark Maxey
|