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http://www.eemp3.com/audiofile/401e5e834d45bdb2f350e5dd823da19d.mp3
点击复制Woe to the writer who is caught without a pen,
When the train of thought starts flowing
He’s but a helpless, crying baby in a hungry lion’s den
How else will he appease upset dragons breathing fire?
How can his words satisfy this insatiable desire?
How else will he rationalize, hypothesize or theorize
Streams of musings that go swiftly in between blinks of his eyes?
In earnest ramblings of metaphors? Pitiful twists, ironies in disarray?
In incomprehensible assertions — all that cause the reader sure dismay
The writer caught without a pen
like a naked soldier amidst a fierce battle
Is left to either run, hide or foolishly surrender
What to do then, pray tell, when all you have is the ‘here and now’
And when neither yesterday nor tomorrow will ever soothe you somehow?
When there is no time to waste searching for an elusive pen
Lest the ideas before you fly in haste like silly men
How does a writer write when mere fingers can barely make a line?
When what’s in your head is sure to leave you in no time
Woe indeed to the writer caught without his trusty pal,
When words come raining on a summer day’s lull
If he misses this chance, this one perfect trine
Tomorrow might pass him without passion or rhyme
How will he pocket letters, mix and match, confound and clarify?
When nothing seems a blessing but these words from on high?
Such waste of time, such waste of thought
Such moving tragedy for a struggling, stupid moth
A loss indeed, a loss in need
For what glory does a knight have
apart from his noble steed?