Scritch, Scratch, Scrape
My inkwell has spilled again.
I will start again, and write some more.
My story still untold
'till the moon wanes and the night grows old.
How wonderful the world must be!
How glorious it seems!
All walk about in air and light,
while still at home stays little old me.
But, best to hide away
complaining gets me nowhere
speaking to no-one
retreating to my lair,
and write again, and again, and again I will.
Sritch, scratch, scrape
Drip, drip, and sometimes fateful, hateful spill.
But, But!, how glorious the world must be.
How glorious it must....