This writing THING
This writing thing
That I thought was a fling
Turned out to be a sting.
How that sting gave me a wing –
Having carried me to Beijing
Hurriedly it turned me into a king.
It is the magic of this thing.
Imagine that it from me words wring.
I for my life to it cling.
Now I will give it a ring
Needing to take it for a swing.
Nature: it has made me sing!
Given me it has this spring
Gaily; yet what will I to it bring?
Gently I still need to find the red string.
Poetry by Lea Foverskov
Read 1173 times
Written on 2007-10-05 at 23:15
Tags Writing  Life
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