From a shelf ,took a book to flip
intrigued of how people write so much,
believed can never be done so easy

Three years later ,I wrote
fear,friendship,home and hope-
I ended with words,
then used mother tongue for pen to flow

To the girl from three years
a dreamer, I recall
Today stands a poet beside the shelf,
wondering how people write so little
Hundreds of stories burn within the soul,
but the words do end , but tale must go on