Writing

It’s an impulse

You’ve gifted me,

So let me not

Crush it within.

With enough paper

And ink to befriend me

Time can wait outdoors.

Guide me right;

And I shall plough

My domain

In no time.

Seldom give me flowers  

Though I dream my fields

Rosy and green.

May no seed fall

On stubborn ground,

Where dearth of water

May shrivel its verve.