Of the mind’s minstrel unravel lines of thought
Intimacies of a writer, no regrets
Manifested in the moving pen, the soul’s
Bared to the page, unspoken wishes and wants
Shocking on a stranger’s page, imagined whole.
This pride of spirit unredeemed by scorning
For the fellow’s words, speaks fathoms to world’s end.
Come fantasy of mind, come the sun’s morning,
Than of the gift. So let this caution ring clear
As dawn’s luster, the pen will always sin impart.
by Rebecca Williams