Scent of Tuberose

I am a writer who cannot help but write from early dawn to dusk I think and jot each and every word is pure delight I cannot state enough how eagerly I sought those hours of tame that often gifted me the rarest flowers of its sort, ... my lot Sometimes I told my story on the moon for free Sometimes I etched it on a star, such bless its the joy of penning, who would disagree That a rhyming poem without excess can be a flow of sweet compose there is no greater pass time, I confess then letting a muse be your mentor of prose, each time it lingers, I smell the tuberose.