Dear Pen I fear it's coming clear
you've kept back all your ink,
allowed per say for thoughts to gray
no birth to what I think.
Count yourself as lucky
ready now for days are long,
the hand that is your master
strengthened while your flow was gone.
Absence bore identity
perhaps your scrawling lacked,
so enter in and work with me
to you I'll make this pact.
We will speak of things to come
and paths for those who seek,
your words will glitter off the page
to heart through eye will speak.
In this transformation
be my thoughts not left to think,
til words no longer flow from heart
and he runs dry our ink.