By Candlelight

By Candlelight

One of these days
I'll write my epic poem.
It will, I am certain,
span pages, generations, and continents,
be a thing to strike fear
into high school students everywhere.

For now, however,
when I have nothing to say,
it seems best to confine myself
to just a few lines
scratched out by candlelight.

 1

About

Here dies another day during which I have had eyes, ears, hands and the great world round me; And with tomorrow begins another. Why am I allowed two? (Evening, by Chesterton)

User