I am mediocre in talent, but I use it to write. I am lacking in power and speed, but attempt to fight. I am distracted and misguided, but I try to finish a book. I am a lover of sights, but I hardly like to look. I hate to be confined to a certain number of words, For, when given a limit to my thoughts, they come suddenly in herds. But like shy, little sheep, they flock slowly, And as a modest writer, I think them all lowly.