This quiet storm, my blinding light,
has never stopped its rage,
Since I began a maiden flight
Upon the written page.
Forever cleaved a heart & mind,
To sacrifice my tears,
In pieces always hard to find
For all the sleepless years.
And comes a day upon due course,
Iíll turn aside my pen.
Its voice still clear, but Iíll be hoarse,
And rest when Iíve a yen.
I shanít imagine when itís time,
Iíll have a little weep.
The final words to set in rhyme,
Then catch up on my sleep.