Writers

We writers are a strange folk

We do our talking through books

Creating people with ink in their veins

And quills for fingers

We give them shape

Sculpt them in images of saints

Or sinners

And make them dance to our tune

Like a Punch & Judy show

We create worlds and within them worlds

Tiny whorls of pages and stains

Within which we encase our tales

Tales of wonder, of art, of science

History, romance and magic

And then when we are content with them

We release them to captivate you

Yes you, who are reading this now

Some tales you like, others not so much

And you love to ask us questions

You discuss us with your friends and colleagues

And we stay alive, sometimes for years after we are gone

We writers are a funny folk

We laugh at our own jokes

And we live for you

And through you

We see paradise blossom and like roses we bloom

The Bilge Master