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!