You are white grace of holes.

Schools thank you for your texture.

Pen and pencil, of muse bring him to life what you right is his view.

Not that he was incapable of inditin',
'Twas the words that caved in,
Squeeze us out you dare, they said,
tears will consort, caper, abet.

Despite, he let the ink strew,
right alongside the beads of rue,
Bedecking with guilt, the Chartaceous world,
But, lo, the bespangled had the words engulfed.

Held with despair the paper of riot,
He dropped the quill and quit the fight,
Words go lost how I write about you
Tears rush forth and blight the  milieu.