Watching ships pass by.

The gulls drop to the sea below

And hear her heavy sigh.

For writing is her dream, you see -

Her love for words - sincere.

She carries on with daily life

But has one goal so clear.

She wants to be a writer

Of poems and stories bold.

But life does not allow her such

The wind blows crisp and cold.

While doing laundry, cooking meals

Her inner-self takes flight

To lands unknown, with treasures left

So plainly in her sight.

The wrinkled shirt upon the floor

Is ironed and hung so neat;

But inner-self is far away

With sand beneath her feet.

She wants to be a writer

Of poems and stories bold.

But this must wait - it is her fate -

Her young one has a cold.

She works long hours in her job

Then home; tasks never ending.

She grabs her pen and pad to write -

"My pants - they need some mending !"

She turns to see this tiny voice

Her pad - she lays aside.

Someday she'll pick it up again

Before her dreams have died.

She wants to be a writer

Of poems and stories bold.

The words she has tucked in her mind

She'll one day turn to gold !

She follows all the rules of life

And basks in all this glory.

But all the while, her rebel smile -

It tells another story !

For deep inside, she once again

Has vanished from her chores

With pen in hand, some far-off land

Beckons her to its shores.

She wants to be a writer

Now through the sky she flies !

For one day she'll achieve this dream -

I see it in her eyes !

W. David Martin, Jr.