Carefully read, this prose is at still
by Alyssa Rieper
Not shaking or budging at it's own will
Each word will bow to the one at it's left
And the ones to the right are servants at best
Why won't it change? Is it written in stone?
Craved into granite, etched out in bone?
There's no way to know and every way to say
There's millions of choices and a correct chosen way
This writing won't change, just save and fill
But your one right way certainly will