~A WRITER'S DILEMMA
I lay me down and long to sleep,
Then words come tumbling instead of sheep.
Elusive words, that in the day
Lay dormant, now come out to play.
If you would keep until the morn,
And yet I’ll wake to find you gone.
Or, when my hands are sore intent
On daily chores and duty bent,
You words come marching by in rhyme
Through the hallways of my mind.
This task cannot be done in haste,
O foolish pen, it is a waste
For you to idly slumbering lie
And let those precious lines go by.
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Comments about this poem (~A WRITER'S DILEMMA by Adeline Foster )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Henry David Thoreau
(12 July 1817 – 6 May 1862)
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