I do not know why I write again
But I know
I do not write for schoolboys
You think nights are diamond studded
I do not write for fawning girls who
Adore sunsets, but grimace
At the thought of umbilicals and blood.
I do not write for old ladies
Gardening, and pulling up weeds
While let the protected serpents live.
I write only for the undefiled,
Those who see sin and start a forest fire
Burning evil in its desire
I write for love of children
And the rivers in their eyes I long to sail
Hunting abusers like men hunt the quail.
O but tell me,
Why do I write again? Why?