Hands writing on paper
jeffrey james pacres/Flickr

The writer wondered, as often she did,
About her life,
And thought to herself
What could I write
About me?
Do I want to be happy?
Do I want to be rich?
Will children come to me?
As she pondered her life,
Her muse came to her,
And told her,
Open your eyes and see
No one knows
What enters or leaves
Or what will even be.