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The Waiting Game

by Mark Maxey

Tonight 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 don’t write

The page is always white

01/05/2006

Posted on 01/05/2006
Copyright © 2024 Mark Maxey

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