Countless are the things I do

But writing is my favourite

The way I feel, the things I've learnt

They all make sense when I just write

Countless are the things I've tried

But writing is my weathered friend

The sorrows of the yesteryears

My journey as my heart did mend

Countless are the things I want

But writing serves me in my lack

Richer still with each new word

Free as air, worth my neck

Countless are the things I've known

But writing must have made them plain

To write I risk to bare my depth

When read, the feedback is my gain

Countless are the things I say

But writing's simply not the same

The value of the written word

Blogged or penned, it is my claim