In this small world, there are hundreds who write.
They all aspire to be someone to see,
Do they find inspiration in the sea?
They write with black ink and paper so white.
Their minds full of many ideas, so bright.
Their emotions on the paper, so free,
Finish a work, and be so full of glee.
Some may be gifted, some may be alright.

There is nothing quite like writing a tale,
To some, it is their only living dream.
To do nothing all day, but their writing.
The long nights working, coffee to inhale,
To have a work published could make them scream.
The career of an author could be exciting.