For LABOR DAY

A Labor of Love

Why do I write?

It's not always productive.

It takes up my time

And may be destructive.

I sit at my computer

And let the words form

Sometimes they're right,

Often they're wrong.

My characters tell me

Day after day

That I don't portray them

In the right way.

I fix one mistake

And then make another.

It makes me wonder,

Why do I bother?

Then come the rejects

That could paper a wall.

Are all of my efforts

Worth making at all?

I don't quit my day job;

I make time to write;

Sometimes on weekends

And often at night.

But joy's out of bounds

When that message comes:

"We'll publish your book."

I hear rolls of drums.

What a labor of love

This writing chore is,

But I won't change from it

To your job or his.

Mary S. Palmer

8/29/12