the artist's box
now is the time of night, that the page, all gaping wide, sets for it's chapter, ideas home to glide.
and we authors, that to run, by the caffines siren theme, from the dawning of the sun, chasing homework like a dream, now are frocklic.
not a mouse shall disturb my hallowed house.
i do go with computer before, to post the page upon the door.