The sun will rise again and set
Inexorably, and yet
I run before them both to get
My words onto the page
There are some times I have a lead
But other times fare worse, indeed,
And I can barely meet the need
For marking on the page
Today is far less like a jog
More like a dreary, heavy slog
Through no clear day, but through a fog
To scribe another page
I hope to find a path run clear
Come out from shadows that draw near
And write that others read and hear
What I put on the page
But now, I halting stumble on
And snatch at something too soon gone
That I would make to me belong
And put it on the page.
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