Formerly

Once the words so easy came,
Flowed through lips and fingers both.
I used to write.

Florid prose was my abode,
No rhyme could stand against my pen.
I used to write.

Where’er the ink and paper touched,
Was fusion ‘tween the elements.
I used to write.

I rode upon the Fortune’s Wheel
And suffered fate engendered there.
I used to write.

As present so becomes the past
My words were doomed to follow it.
I used to write.

Thus all stanza’s reach their end
All prose put in it’s place.
Poor poets travel in the wake
To ebb, and flow, and die.

I used to be a writer;
Now I fall in love.