The Writer's Enchantment
by Teryth Wimms | The moon shines silver on painted leaves,
And candlelight glows on the eaves.
The water laps gently on the sandy shore
While the breathy music of the night weeps for the morn.
The warm circle of light catches the movement of an arm,
A scratching quill will do no harm.
It dances and glides across the paper
As it takes note of the evenings caper.
A fragile sleeve trailing grace,
A furrowed brow mirrors the concentrating face.
When the night is over, the magic is through,
Capture it now, before it leaves you.
The writer hears what must be said
As the sight of danger looms ahead.
Bang! Clash! The words are netted.
A grimly satisfied look is one's credit.
For an author's work is never finished,
The images must be written down else they diminish.
The longing to be somewhere else, for a different reality
Is nothing more than commonality...
For me. | Teryth Wimms
Copyright 2003 |
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