Somehow I did succeed;
letting my pencil, down the corner,
and start to recede.
The road of thought I ponder,
seldom me do, is think alike;
as have before I thought about.
My words are rather volatile,
and never runs along throughout.
This is a kind of guiltiness-
I feel beneath my heart and through.
Never though, I lay it aside
the channel of my thought abode.
In deep O! Deep it goes within.
I write but not I write for thee,
the single word I spell or carve-
for no one else but is for ME,