A blaze of ambition lit deep within
Moves me to ink a better tomorrow.
I pass on life through all I have written,
Death of my pen will give birth to sorrow.
If no pen, why sniff the sweet scent of May?
Why let an autumn breeze caress my cheek?
Unable to script a beautiful day
Would paint my universe dismally bleak.
My pen must keep pace with the tick of the clock
For sleep will come when my dirge is sung.
To bindings of mine open ears will flock,
Listening on once my death bell has rung.
But even if those ears number a few
Done will I have what I was bred to do.