How I Write

The hours late

I close the gate

My shutters, clasp and lock


I ring the bell

Fill my inkwell

And glance, toward the clock


An evening chill

It greets my quill

As letters join, to words


The only sound

Which can be found

Is chirping, of the birds


My thoughts now drift

Away, they lift

As dim, I fade the light


Now ideas flow

My stories grow

For this, is how I write

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