I write to leave a record of my days
I write in hopes of earning people’s praise
I write that I might delight and amaze
All those who read the lines I leave each time
I put a pen to paper, whether rhymes,
Alliteration, free verse, prose, and I’m
Yet pleased to have the time to write I need.
That voice that says I’m privileged, I heed,
For having time to sit and write and read
Is luxury that many, sadly, lack.
It may well be that I remain a hack
Despite the written pages that I stack
On shelves of wood and bits and bytes, but still
I write, and as I do, I yet do thrill.

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