Posted in poetry

Sunday Relax Poem

While my family rest,

I try my best,

At wanting to work and write.

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My home is my nest,

But as I type and press,

I’m tired and ready for night.

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If I can write a little each day,

I can give myself leeway,

To call myself a writer.

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It’s finding the middle

Of a hectic life, pickle!

But on I must. I’m a fighter.

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