Oh, writer,
How am I to keep up with the lightning speed of thine quill,
The constant flow of new and intriguing works?
For they rush me,
Like an avalanche,
Pouring forth from a mountain!
And I,
Overwhelmed and heavily burdened,
Cannot flee from their crashing wake!
Doomed, am I,
Being swallowed up by works
I have not the time to read,
But enjoy so very much.
Cursed am I,
By the slow pace which has come upon my habits,
And the overall blandness of my days.
