The Quill And Ink…

Quill and ink are like a frail, dark rose

Beautiful, elegant, unsurpassed;

But the thorns draw blood and clots as ye go.

The delicate flowers will not last.

But the glorious rose will bloom another day

In the warmth of the Spring’s golden rays.

The quill, the black feather, can turn on you

Blotting out the sun on the white pristine page.

Leaving coarsed lines and thickened loops,

The point skims across the grain of the parchment’s gauge,

Sprinkling blotches of Indigo ink,

Falling raindrops and tears as you blink.

The quill and the ink;

The rose and the thorn;

Teaches you patience and reticence.

So strike up the flint and raise up the flame

To drip the wax and seal the blame.

Copyrighted by Deborah A. Bowman, 1998