*~*$*~* My Work *~*$*~*

A secret realm that I control,

It is my heart, it is my soul.

My thoughts they flit, they go on through,

And to paper they're pressed onto.

The thoughts that come, they are my own

And when I die, they are alone.

For though I die, each little line

Will stand the wear and tear of time.

*~*$*~*