• iamglad 10w

    Ask her to write; she'll whine
    Ask her why and she'll cry
    She'll be riled after a while

    Adder tongued, she kills her thoughts before they come
    After all, stillbirths cower in the draught
    But like Abiku they keep haunting and butting
    Undaunted they jut until a button pops

    They steal upon her in the dead
    When all is calm and still and dire
    Then she comes to with sweats
    Groping around town for a pen

    Her night visions demand a fair hearing
    Else this new fever won't be ending
    The blank pages and idle inkhorn
    Remind of sad sages who mourn
    Instead of reroute their lost voice