Listening to every heart
The Quill’s Feather
By my soul
so very long ago
she took me in her pink-white hands
and bade me write, strand by strand.
Dipping my tip
in the blackest ink
she put her thoughts on paper fine
feelings that she shared were partly mine.
She knew not
my feelings when
her liquid feelings flowed from my pen
knowing I would write for her again, and again.
She took time
putting to black line
her deepest passions left unheard
except for these here, her written words.
writing with beauty, grace, flair
keeping her loving words safely here.
she would clutch me tighter, then
the feather at my top would quiver when
her own gasp
at the lines of devotion she wrote down
feelings of love she would within drown, drown.
the times best
when quivering feather laid to rest
for love’s passion had met passion’s test.
6 October, 1999
Look, then, into thine heart, and write ~~~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow