A Quiver of Pens And Men

Who can Love say knows it well.

It has been four scores and a year ago
Since I have last written from my pen
I have placed it down
Into an abyss
Filled with dark memories
Never to relinquish
It again

For woes and worries
And troublesome mends
Have for weight
Made impossible; flight
For a single feathered quill
My entrusted pen
To a page or parchment
Write

Too many long years of anguish
And indifference have we shared
For us to make recompense
The hopes of glee and happiness
Have flee

And fled in flocks
Where common tail feathers joined
To fly in due course
Away from words that scorn
And in contemptuous jeer
Do with derision; mock

I have placed it down
Into a bottomless abyss
Of a liquid mist
Of souls that trump
In hopeful schemes
To ward better dreams
To one day
At port harbor
Be found adrift