A fairy tale author I know
starts work every day when the roosters crow.
He writes very quickly, he writes without hitches
about fairies and elves and hobgoblins and witches.
He writes about princesses, princes, and kings,
and keeps going till six when the dinner bell rings.
The next morning he's back when the sky's turning blue.
An inkpot's too little, so what does he do?
At the foot of his garden there's a pond full of ink.
The blackbirds all gather around it to drink.
And whenever that writer is at a loose end,
he goes down to that pond to refill his pen.
He's made up ten thousand stories already,
and has plenty more - he's constant and steady.
And if he keeps writing till the day that he dies,
perhaps he'll have written that pond of his dry.
-Annie M. G. Schmidt