Iron Quill
The quill flows friendly in steady hands
The ink spreads over the page like butter
Thoughts and ideas are conveyed quickly
No verbal setbacks from slur or stutter
Soon brilliance breaks free from the shadows
Fame and accolades are on the menu
Adoring fans throw laurels at your feet
Your name up in lights atop each venue
Then a funny thing happens to your head
All this attention has exiled your gift
Your quill weeps and sheds lonely tears of ink
Thru the rubble, just broken words to sift
Now, gone are the laurels, gone are your fans
No more accolades, no more fond greeting
Your quill just went limp, like your dying dreams
Words are eternal, but fame is fleeting
Copyright © Randy Freie | Year Posted 2025
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