When Writers Meet
Writers are identical birds of a feather,
Siamese twins of the selfsame womb.
Their meeting is an eerie serendipity,
Whether alive or in the quiet of the tomb.
Their labors crackle to a symphony,
Their pens merge to a scribbling sound
That, if well listened to, is the whisper
Of Mother Nature's love to those around.
Though rare, when a writer meets a writer
The prickly burdens of existence get lighter.
|