Reality’s not what she wants it to be,
And so she makes her own
In the virtual pages she fills each night
In her study, all alone,

At a place and a time and with people there
Who speak to the ears of the wise;
For the thoughts that she spills through her fingers and hands
Serve as a flotation device.

For everyone learns that this world is a swirl,
And each day, and undertow —
That the ropes we may don when we’re very young
Can keep us from where we want to go.

So she casts her words widely, for anyone
Who may read to cling on to:
For kindness, it seems, is in short supply
In a world that misvalues the true.

  At a tiny old desk and a darkening room,
  In a “you’d-pass-by” surrounding —
  Comes a world that serves as flotation device
  For all of us
 
  Who’re drowning