Stopping by the Prose on a Glowy Evening

Whose words these are I surely know.

His poem is on the website, though;

He may not see me reading here

To feel his verbalight aglow.

My fingers, locking, pull me near

To stop and think as words appear 

Between the loading page's wake.

No gentle write as uploads clear.

My fingers, scrolling, raise the stake 

And I just simply cannot break.

The wand of pen, a zen filled sprite

Of verbalight for poesy's sake.

This site, this Prose, engulfs my sight,

But I have deadlines I must fight,

And words to go, so I must write,

And words to go, so I must write.