The wonder of writing
I’m working on my first novel
The process is a great marvel
Where indeed do stories live
Before the muses chooses to give
They seem to drop out of the air
First nothing then maybe a pair
Appear before my inward eye
And voices speak aloud or sigh
And I must rush to get them down
Before they blush or at me frown
As much too say we thought you cared
And if you don’t we’ll look else where.
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