On the first day,
She avoided it,
Fought it,
With swords of bare-to-bone sentences,
And shields of lackluster verbs.
Because she hated it.
On the second day,
she clung to it,
Desperate,
Beating out her troubles and her woes,
In words no one else could hear.
Because she wept through it.
On the third day,
She grabbed for it,
Greedily,
With paragraphs
Bursting with adjectives,
And lines that ran thick as honey.
Because she loved it.
On the fourth day,
She awaited it,
Calmly.
Picking out the perfect
Noun, verb, sentence, clause,
Carefully, slowly.
The language she best knew how to speak.
Because she knew she'd never be without it.
