The Pen that Wrote, Writes No More

You wrote.

We heard.

We smiled.

We wept.

The magic of your pen

Made us do so.
At night,

We slept.

While you wrote.

The morning came

But you still wrote

With your undaunted spirit.
The Spring passed away,

So did the Summer.

Winter spread the snowflakes

And Autumn swept them away.

Your pen never rested.

The ink never dried.
Today,

When you are there no more,

I look into your room.

The pen is still open.

The papers are all scattered.

And so is my heart.
You could have changed the world.

We know.

You changed our lives instead.

Now,

We look at the world

Through your painted glasses.
The Winter comes.

So does the Summer.

The rain turns your papers wet

The Summer turns them dry.

You do not hold the pen.

You do not write.

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13 thoughts on “The Pen that Wrote, Writes No More

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