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Edgar Guest - Copy Paper
Work rating: Low

I  START the day with paper white, 
And put it in my old machine, 
And wonder whether, as I write 
The night will find my copy clean. 
Will this day`s finished task be fair 
Or full of blemishes and flaws? 
Will what my hands have written there 
Deserve derision or applause? 

Have I put down a single thing
That better would have been unwrit?
 Have I let pass a jibe or fling
With venom at the point of it? 
This paper spotless came to me,
How will it leave my little den? 
What will the printer`s judgment be?
And what will say my fellow men?

`Tis mine to do with as I will.
I view the finished work, and pause; 
Here is a thought that I must kill,
And here a verse that`s full of flaws. 
And here`s a line that I`d regret
If ever I should let it go, 
The paper now is blurred, and yet 
I much prefer to have it so.

Tomorrow it will be too late,
Whatever is must stand for aye; 
If I have penned a line in hate
That stays the record for today. 
And whether it be good or bad
I cannot change one single line; 
My chance to be of worth I`ve had,
And every blemish there is mine.

My life is like the paper sheet
On which I toil from day to day, 
And there the bitter and the sweet
Are written down to last for aye. 
And, oh, I hope, when comes the call
That takes me from this earthly scene, 
The God above who judges all
Will find my copy fairly clean.
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