Writers Are A Funny Breed

<br>It is very quiet here--so still<br>I don`t live here--I live down the hill<br>On this winter`s afternoon<br>The distant sun--it slowly swings the room around<br>This room hangs on a golden chain<br>Suspended<br>Frozen<br>Frozen in time since you went away <br><br>Walking through your rooms I though your things<br>Fitting--these aren`t fingers these are wings<br>It says April on your calendar<br>It`s winter now--I wonder where you are<br>I hope it`s warm and sunny--or cold and windy<br>As long as you`re fine <br><br>Your house is as tumble-down as mine<br>Crumpled papers everywhere like mine<br>This one says "I`ll write no more"<br>That one says "don`t lock the door"<br>Writers are a funny breed<br>I should know <br><br>You said someday when we`re pure and high<br>We won`t need to capture and describe<br>The things we see or don`t see<br>We`ll let things be<br>Let things be<br>That`s when you`d leave <br><br>And that is why I had to come today<br>My mad scribbling crumpled, crippled, fey<br>Tossing words from ledges that erode<br>From ledges--I am not a goat<br>I am not a piece of chalk<br>I just want to do it right like you <br><br>And now I stand here in your house<br>Everything`s so still<br>I wonder if I`ll write again<br>Or let things be<br>Writers are a funny breed