You see a lonely girl,
A quiet, unmoving girl.

Only her hand.
You can only see her hand moving.

Writing words endlessly.
At this desk she sits all day.

Idea upon idea
Pile up inside her head.

She'll take a break to read,
And receive inspiration from it.

Then she goes back to writing.
She can't be stopped.

You know, she knows,
It's futile.

A writer's heart she has.
Forever more, now and then.