ode to quill – sonnet
i pity you, my quill, my faithful squire.
i pity you, for tailoring the garbs
of all my thoughts, caressing, crisp, your barbs,
and for the winter setting you afire.
i pity your exquisite imperfection
too eager to pursue the tender shade
of dreams that come to light and dreams that fade,
and pin it on the paper with affection.
but none of the above can equal fully
the reason why i pity you the most,
for when the ink is haunted by the ghost
of more that is to come, to tell you truly
i fear i’ll pity you until i die –
for only then i’ll let your tip go dry.
© 2014 Liliana Negoi