See fever

I must on with the poems again, to work on the meter and rhyme,

And all I ask is a thick pad and a pencil to write in time;

And the clock’s tick and the word’s wrong and the white page waiting

And a red mist before my eyes, and a lliteration grating.

I must on with the poems again, for the call of the coming test,

Is a tough call and a clear call where I must try my best;

And all I ask is a clear cut say with the helpful feedback coming,

And the hung line and the thrown word and the short syllables humming

I must on with the poems again, to the lonely writing life

To the poet’s work and the author’s work where the chair’s like a snagging knife;

And all I ask is a cheering word from a smiling fellow author,

And clear rhyme and a clean line when the long edit’s over.