Nowhere To Go

One idle day I took a pen,
To scribble some notes on a crumpled paper,
As I wrote, my mind began
To imagine myself a Crafter.
My subjects were not earth nor rock nor wood,
But words of the English tongue
My arts were not learnt from books,
but from my fancy wrung.
Apollo blessed my very humble
Many nights of happy labour;
Yet sadly this aspiring (presumptuous) author
All dressed up but had nowhere to go.

Jack