Rhyme and Wrinkles

Just lately I’ve been spending so much time on re-arranging words upon my page, correcting meter, finding perfect rhyme- I swear it’s this that’s causing me to age. You see, I never rest until it’s done, a half completed write won’t let me sleep throughout the darkest hours, until the sun casts out his rays that through my windows seep. I wonder, if I change my form to free, just let the feelings tumble from my mind, then maybe I would have more time for me to sleep, to my complexion be more kind. Perhaps though it’s the sacrifice for art, ne’er fair of face, but beautiful at heart.