If I could see the road ahead
Would it be fair to lie in bed
Would not my wings long to stretch and fly
If my spirit were to wither and die

Would life not be grand
if not for the sand
For time waits for none,
like the setting of sun

The power was there for me to use
Instead I sat by to discolour and bruise
Now words are my joy
Like a child with a toy

To write is too see, to be more than just me
An escape from this life of trouble and strife
My life will go on in words so strong
Time will stand still with parchment and quill.