She holds the pen when others go rest
Her mind works when the clock strikes twelve
In the evening she is a poet
And in the dark,
She lays the noises quiet
All her life, she pretended no to write
To play fool and act like she doesn’t mind.
But when the sun sinks,
Her true passions glow.
She lets magic and logic flow
From the pen that she holds then throws
Then all at once,
God sees them all
And one day,
Plans to spill them all
The poems, the stories, the essays – all of it
Until the evening poet
Learns to never quit.
Someday, she will never be afraid.
She’ll be on the parade-
Of the writers and the brave.