Pensive
I write poetry,
Simple poetry,
As simple as can be,
My grammar isn't hot,
Or my punctuality.
Sometimes I find it confusing,
When my pen flows easily,
It takes on a life of its own,
Taking control of me.
It has a sense of purpose,
As it scribbles away,
The content and message
Become as plain as day
I am unaware of holding the pen,
There isn't time to work it out
As off it goes again,
Effortlessly cavorting
All over the page,
Informative, reporting
Things humourous and sage
As I read the effort
My trusty quill has done
I salute this ink-filled implement
For it's the clever one!
Copyright © Shirley Hawkins | Year Posted 2022
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