She seats herself at her desk, pen poised in her hand.
From her mind to the paper flow a thousand words grand.
As she is swallowed by her work, others marvel at her infatuation.
Some believe that she would still write with invaders threatening the nation.

Then, at once, the elegant words stop pouring onto the crisp white sheet.
The pen clatters loudly on the floor, launched down in utter defeat.
Everyone is stunned by her actions as she howls in pain.
Her body falls, writhing, mimicking her hurting brain.

Her slender, pain-wracked body to the emergency room is rushed.
As the doctor steps through the doorway, the entire waiting room is hushed.
The expert explains the tragic situation: her condition is unknown.
Then the man turns on his heel, not permitting himself to drop his professional tone.

Several months after fate struck, she once again sits down to write in wondrous glory.
Those long, tedious months gave her plenty of time to craft a rhyming story.
The crowd that has gathered around her is as quiet as Dr. Death.
It seems as if, for this one moment, the world is willing to hold its breath.

She begins to write as history repeats itself once more.
Her sweet laughter fills the room, drawing others through the door
.The entire gathering is ecstatic; some even cry tears of joy.
A few even go so far as act like fools, much like a lovesick schoolboy.

The cries of happiness are halted suddenly by a painful crack.
The howls are louder this time, resounding like an entire wolf pack.
Physicians rush about swiftly, in an attempt to name the disease
.Some are desperate enough to fall to and pray on their knees.

She undergoes many surgeries, in vain attempts to strike lucky and be healed,
Though she entertains not even a feeble hope, believing her fate is already sealed.
She awaits many long months and eventually escapes the prison of the ill.
The "wardens" smile and wave goodbye, wishing her goodwill.

Despite the doctor's warnings, she is sitting and hoping for a good thought.
She jots down some half-hearted ideas; painful throbs are uneasily fought.
Her thin lip trembles as she struggles not to give in.
For her, to quit writing now would be a horrendous sin.

The best results should come from hard work, as if that could be true.
She lays down her pen softly, unsure of what she could possibly to do.
Her head tilts back; her eyes flutter, coming slowly close.
She remains like that for a while, seemingly frozen in a sorrowful pose.

Once she returns to reality, she retreats to her room to weep.
Though she meant to return to her work, she eventually falls asleep.
But she still hasn't given up on her dream.
Every day, she writes while holding back a scream.