Writing

My day breaks

And I hope no more heart aches

The morning sun shines through my window

And its warmth makes my heart glow

I am alone and sometimes lonely

Gone is my love am by myself only

So i look at the pen upon my table

And think to write if I am able

Will the words flow from my hand?

Or will my lines be boring and bland?

To fill a caption of my day

A kind of joy a kind of play

Like gold dust found in a cavern

Gives my soul a sort of haven

The desire to fill a need

Someone else could read

Now I am alive and kicking

But not as good as Wolf or Dickens

Still putting this morning pen to paper

I know my sadness I can leave till later!