She stands tall, a slender fountain pen.
Made for writing poetry,
eloquent and elegant.
She spills pictures in words.
She cannot do it herself,
She needs the impetus,
the impetus, that can only be unleashed from a passionate brain.
A brain at play, near bed time,
playing with syllables and metaphors,
Sometimes beating rhythms,
sometimes singing rhymes.
The brain's no good without the pen,
the pen the same without the brain!
(C) Livvi