If I, for fifteen minutes every day,
assign myself to write a bit of prose,
I think I’ll find I have some things to say,
for doing leads to noting. I’ll compose
a quarter hour worth of text a night,
and then I’ll set it free to multiply.
The muse instructs me: Now’s the time to write,
and cares not what, but only that I try.

I’ll put a pen to paper, or I’ll sit
before a keyboard and computer screen.
I’ll string together words appropriate
or not, and so uncover what I mean.
If nothing else, I’ll force my work to birth
and learn before too long or late, its worth.