Sometimes the words are lost,
When from a dream we awake.
Sometimes the words fade the pages,
In the bottom of the lake.
Sometimes the words burn brightly,
As the pages curl and flake.
Sometimes the words, old and musty,
The garbage man will take.
Sometimes the hard drive crashes,
Electronic characters turn to fake.
Sometimes the critic dashes,
Words to shreds we cast our stake.
Somewhere writers toil,
The words again to remake.
Copyright 2004 © Ronald W. Hull
Read War's End, the Novel