Although I'll take it down again
And read it, once more, to the end
I wish that I could write a book myself!

If anyone could ever know
The way that my emotions flow
When down into an easy chair I sink

And mindlessly pass the time away
Not knowing if it's night or day
and very often when I'm through, I think

What would I write about today?
An Island somewhere, far away
Where people play, and love is just a sport

Or would I write about regress?
About a life of loneliness
A fallen king, among a fallen court

It's then I take my pen in hand
And start out with a plan , so grand
When my young son runs in and says so gay

Mommy, can you draw a cow?
Will you please come and show me how?
And I put off my book another day