Meeting My Other Self
Yesterday, I took out my new quill pen and
a bottle of ink.
I sat down at an antique table,
lit a half-burned candle and dipped my quill;
I wrote on a yellowed pad of calligraphic parchment.
Swiftly jettisoned into the past as,
the room began to change;
the table appearing to be brand new,
sported different legs.
The candle sat burning in a silver holder
instead of a cheap aluminum one.
This had happened before;
this visit to the past and
I had found an ancestor there.
This time, I found myself;
a writer in a past life;
penning olde English…
imagine that!
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