Writing Process

In a sense of victory I hold up what is mine All these years I worked on My own life and times Putting ink to paper In a leather cover fine Hoping that someone would read My life, love, and rhymes The days in sun And when snow whined In the time where love won And souls were kind I converted this life To a physical type And amidst loss, love, and strife I have tears to wipe What of this book That no one will read It was a tree cut, and shook It had memories A young woman Once sat at its base Peeled and ate apples With memorable grace A young man Brought by a date Joined the young woman's hand Under a tree of fate An age later Men have came And these traitors Gave this ancient, pain In a sense of sadness I take down what is mine This item is madness Murder redefined I recycle my work And tell of the tree And all it was worth Came with words from me