Now I sit to write,
My poem of the day,
Writing it at night,
So the lantern makes it pay.

My pen scratches against the page,
Music to my ears,
I find it has no age,
I could listen to it for years.

Now the day is done,
The time for bed grows nigh,
Gone has the sun,
In my dreams I will fly high.

Today the worst occurred,
I wish it had deferred.