They try to write against me, but their pens are missing ink.
Told me that I couldn’t see, but I made sure that this vision blinks.
I was the only one brave enough to look up at the heating sun.
I gave the drumsticks to somebody to march to his own beating drum.
He handed it back to me, and said quite accurately.
That these were not sticks for drums but they were sticks to make fire.
I told him thank you and said that I would be sure to take higher.
He said It’s my pleasure, and although this is  no pressure.
Please step out of my shadow, because you are in the way of my leisure.