The Writer

I’m dry
Like tinder in the tinder-box is
Dry
I try
As every fledgeling learning how will
Try
To fly
But I’m just sitting as the hours do
Fly
And by
The time I write some words the day’s gone
By
I’m dry
Like sand deep in the desert waste is
Dry
I sigh
At yet another barren day, one
Sigh
Then lie
Upon my bed to sleep and as I
Lie
I tie
Myself to tomorrow’s dreams, so that
I
Don’t cry.

E.M. Swift-Hook