If writing verse were seen as cursed, then down with the devil I'd be.
The world can't end or comprehend just what this means to me.
For when in doubt I come about with such and such a phrase.
Swift will I write, all through the night, till I see the sun's sweet rays.
My spirit will, with use of quill, turn lines into a poem.
And when it's done, my words, well spun, will say: This'll show'em!
Good luck to all those poor souls who, like me, have much to say.
Perhaps we'll meet, by stream