Tired eyes, sleepy sighs, words are ringing singing rhymes,
Bells are back, the ruse it floats, I’d sure love to write good quotes,
Hope someday this dreams lands here in this present atmosphere,
Keep on going, almost there, getting close produces scare.
How much better can this be? How much work I’ve done for free.
All for one to read it true, all for buyers to say I do.
Cannot imagine a greater feeling than to produce an intrigued viewing.
Read my book, won’t you please, take a look, enjoy the read.
If you don’t, I don’t care… No I’m kidding to be fair.
Writing words that make you quit will make me throw a childish fit.
But to see you turn that page, just to feel you feel my rage,
To know the man is not alone, to know for sure I wrote true prose,
Just to see you stop and stare, to feel your eyes on what I’ve put there.
To know my pen produced that scribble, to hear my page played like a fiddle,
To know I’ve conquered the t.v., to see for once the thoughts of me –
Carried on into another, shared by those who pass the cover.
To see the work amount to glee, to know for once I’m not diseased.
Finding out is not so bad, as long as finding makes you glad.
– Thomas M. Watt