A Dance of Choices: Research or Poetry

For two years, I've woven verses like threads of gold, Yet in the shadows, my unfinished research whispers, A ghost from the past, beckoning me to mend the frayed edges, Now and then, I stumble into a fog, yearning to complete the tapestry left undone. The research demands ten hours, six days a week, A relentless tide that pulls me under, If fortune smiles, perhaps a pearl of wisdom will surface in months, Success is a fickle companion, but the quest is my steadfast companion, No riches or renown await me, just the quiet reward for a curious mind. Poetry, on the other hand, flows like a river of emotions, Crafted with the brushstrokes of my soul, No coins clink in my pocket here, My father would chuckle, calling it a venture in folly. Yet, whether I reap gold or not, If these creations ignite joy within my heart, They gift me a sense of triumph, a balm for my restless spirit.