The Brave Young Writer

An poem I had to write back in high school about my life after dying....

The brave young writer pen in hand

She always stood firm to take a stand

Fighting her way through the deep forest of life

Taking all the people's critisim in strife

She was brave she was ever so strong

But so lonely periods without friends prolonged

Sofisticate and ever so clever

Rose to any endevor

That critics did throw

A powerful voice she did know

For when she raised it to sing

Or speak on political things

She was nothing short of fantastic

Kind of stiff but kind of spastic

Opera was her forte

And when the orchestra would play

The writer would raise her voice

Loved having a fashion choice

Wore bright colorful clothes and patterns

Some thought she was from Saturn

Kind of stood out

Everything was bold and did shout!

Loved to read form thick books

Though many gave her funny looks

She dabbled in everything of the arts

Varity of sad poems to one's of love and hearts

Opera, pop, do wop, swing and big band

Very independent didn't need that helping hand

Strong minded and strong willed

Many siad she was skilled

Brave young wirter For her sing no sorrowful lament

Or weap over harsh words lack of time spent

This is how shw was to be remembered by

Not by who was her enemy or her ally

Friends or foes she tried to be nice

And stay away form any vice

But she looks over us with a knowing smile

Kmnowing that her efforts were worth while

For writers never die

Just pass by

The brave young writer lives forever

In her works dying never

So read on with no doubt

That the writer you'll never live without!

Author's Note

Please ignore my spelling and grammar thanks!