But Then, From Common Pen...

Oh, bitty ink we shape to word

Oh, type-print tears and smiles

You shape the hugs where thought is stirred

To reach across the miles

You light the wick that sparks the dream

You transport meager thought

To places we have never been

By meandering jot

You paint the bank beside the brook

In winter-gilded sage

Or fling a flower-furnished nook

Upon a barren page

You make us brave, foolish or wise

Oh, word, what will you be?

As ink-drops rise to mammoth-size

For all the world to see

…for once you were a hidden slur

But then, from common pen

You shaped, for good or ill, the curve

That shapes the thoughts of men

Then, what momentous might you wield

For who knows where you go?

Or who will be touched by the yield

Where word-formed whispers flow?

I tremble as the hand is stirred

Who can its reach portend?

As touch shapes hidden thought to word

Oh, who can know its end?

Lord, hold the hand that holds the pen

And let our beacon shine

Your Word within our words; amen

And all the glory thine

© Janet Martin