 Sassenach | RAVENPUFF | Sing me a song of a lass that is gone | bookDRAGON | #awkwardturtle<#
26. QUILL
My Quill...
My new indigo quill, it writes so very smooth,
Mama got the bill, and I got the groove.
I dipped it in the ink, black as the night time sky.
Writing poems makes me think, I must at least try.
Feathers high, dark purple dye,
I won't lose my quill, nor write on too rough twill.
Poetry is good for the soul, it's cheaper than therapy,
I just need a large parchment scroll, to write a legacy.
But when does a poem end?
When the author has it penned.
By Beatrice Holly York
Aged Nine and a half.
__________________ 
EVASIVE | RESTLESS | MISUNDERSTOOD
always on the move |