By candlelight I spent my hours,
Writing my memoirs, sweet and sour.
I felt my wilting will go slack,
As a cold hand rested on my back.
It was my Master, tall and dark.
Who gave out orders with a bark.
He didn’t care much for my writing,
And I felt the same about his biting.
Not by teeth, oh no, by his words,
My Master bites me til I hurt.
By candlelight my creative mind flows,
But Master snubs it with harsh bellows.
My candle flickers, my will retreats.
I break, as a slave fall to my knees.
The candle goes dark.