Words are mazes set in ink,
born without bearings,
thrown in the paper clink.
Without a compass or a map,
I endeavour to read,
so oft’ snared in a trap.
Think of all the fantasy,
I must have missed,
due to this abnormality.
For this however is my fate,
no silver lining,
no means in which to negotiate.
In my youth set on in class,
ask by the teacher,
please read aloud do as I ask.
Now older I can reflect,
how life has panned out,
I can look at my self without,
a single ream of regret.
