She holds the pen when

She holds the pen when others go rest

Her mind works when the clock strikes twelve

In the evening she is a poet

And in the dark,

She lays the noises quiet

All her life, she pretended no to write

To play fool and act like she doesn’t mind.

But when the sun sinks,

Her true passions glow.

She lets magic and logic flow

From the pen that she holds, then throws

Then all at once,

God sees them all

And one day,

Plans to spill them all

The poems, the stories, the essays-all of it

Until the evening poet

Learns to never quit.

Someday, she will never be afraid.

She’ll be on the parade-

Of the writers and the brave.