Poem: Another Morning, Another Poem
Another Morning, Another Poem
Some mornings, rising from bed
already I think I know what the day’s
work will be.
already I think I know what the day’s
work will be.
Today, though, I am here
at the blank page, wondering
what I will make this morning.
at the blank page, wondering
what I will make this morning.
What comes is this, a silly thing,
another unmajestic self-indulgence,
existing only to say I marked the blank page.
another unmajestic self-indulgence,
existing only to say I marked the blank page.
Yet, I know that this act is central, that writing
even this matters to the muse, who will reward me,
later with real work, hard and beautiful.
even this matters to the muse, who will reward me,
later with real work, hard and beautiful.
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