Scribes Fret

A Horatian Ode.

Pen of mine, so hollow and mindless

as a stone. Heavy in my hands you grow.

Worrying of lines to inscribe,

what fate has been destined for thine ink?

Shall thy ink dry to sand in times gaze.

or will it be wreathed in gold for all.

Time will tell,

whether the pen brings what is sought.

Reviews

[John the Baptist]

Tell me about it. Block sucks.