Some Think Tis Ink Inside a Pen...

 Have you looked to see what is hiding in your pen? ;-))

Some think tis ink inside a pen

But I have seen it spill its will

In flowers while winter gales chill

The bone that holds the dreamer’s yen

Some think that black and red and blue

Are bled when pen is touched to page

But I have witnessed frost-kissed sage

And mauve-mist morn, meadows of dew

I’ve held, with nothing but a smile

The wonder of a new-born child

Or wandered moorlands, wind-swept, wild

Where only page and ink beguile

Look! there an autumn leaf drifts by

And there a butterfly, a bird

See how the transport of mere word

Can splash gold sun into gray sky
 

The heart and soul are not immune

To song or sigh or fingertips

That brush the silence as it drips

With ink-anointed winter-June

Eyes do not show all that we think

The hand that moves the pen will tell

Of worlds cupped in its citadel

…the pen holds more, my love, than ink

© Janet Martin