They cling to the weight of their quill, 

the tactile sensation, grounding them, 

yet, the digital tide pulls at their resolve, 

urging them to adapt or be left behind.

 

Nostalgia blooms in the scent of old books, 

memories of applause, now distant echoes, 

the poet's dilemma, a struggle within, 

to honour tradition or embrace the new.

 

Their heart aches for the simplicity lost, 

the intimate connection with each verse, 

yet, the rapid pace of today precludes, 

the quiet reflection their soul craves.

 

With a sigh, they dip their thirsty pen

once more, a solitary battle against time's rush, 

knowing their legacy is not in speed, 

but in the depth and soul of every word.