~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 )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
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