entrapped in the space between the nib and quinine
trapped in the space on a bard’s nib we slept,
Hibernated, slumbered and under the quinine stains we wept,
Yearned we did to spill ourselves on paper,
Bard he caged his thoughts and emotions for later.
Later, we heard them thoughts say as years went by,
Afraid we were for the burden on his heart was high,
Ever we knew that a lip curved in pain,
Can be kissed into a smile again.
Our neighbor, more sorrowing words, them lay folded,
Some on the table & most weeping in his heart, pounding his head all loaded.
A cry afar a sob we at times faintly hear,
A smile, an eruption we sense at times from his dear.
A breeze is blowing nice and strong,
We hope to be on a page, to read that all would throng.
The languid wings of air still carry the scent,
Of my sweetheart long after she went………………………