In the evenings when the playground was full 
Of tumbling kids and their happy screams
The little boy stood by himself, timid and shy
Looking out at the blissful world, the stuff of dreams
‘Someday, they will all want to play with me’
In the school when the papers were due
He wrote the best he could, with his heavy scrawl
Glasses slipping down his nose as he labored to finish
The master flicked through it, said ‘C’, in his lazy drawl 
‘Someday, he will actually read what I write’

At the local newspaper office, when the reports came
His were ones that no one ever wrote about 
Of lost lives and dreams, of the truth behind criminals and knaves
They told him off, told him to pull it together or just get out
‘Someday, people will want to read my stories’

At the book signing, when the crowds gathered
He looked at the eager people, smiling and waving
After all those years, ‘someday’ was finally here
He sighed, ‘it was simple, I just had to keep trying’

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