The Inkwell

Nothing I Cared, in the lamb white days, that time would take me

Each micro-crevice ingrained upon my face

My mind set on standing up straight – the first thing on my plate

Then comes writing, wobbly as hell

Fountain pen ink falling like tears at my efforts

But the paper – Wow – it ate it up as imagination and colour spilled on the page

Flights of Fancy ? from a lad of 15 ?

Pick up your Tennyson, lad – you’re still green

What they didn’t know – I was reading at Home

as colour and language they mixed in the Zone

Kipling my Double Bass – Tennyson Clarinet with

Pratchett on Drums , A Definate bet

My Inspirations for tales of Adventure and Romance –

A Great Jazzy combo – to be read and advanced.

Napowrimo , Day 25