You've got the gift of turning thought to tale
in ways that make the reader sit and think;
you know well there's an urge to stop and drink,
but writing problems aren't resolved by ale.
At times the thought of typing makes you quail
but you go on although you're on the brink
for things can change in a simple eyeblink
and you're too good to let yourself just fail.
Words come and go, but stories have more bite
than just the conjoined meanings, in a way
we are the tale ourselves, not just the teller;
the whole thing comes out when we sit and write,
but we can choke not knowing what to say,
still our own deep need is oft the great impeller.
Odd ravings, comments, and other wastes of time. Some are in plain prose, yet others are in rhyme.
09 February 2007
For Nalo Hopkinson
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