True, you can call me old
but i still hold my shape
and cut a fair sight
against those young whippersnappers alongside me
With Spring seemingly here
and summer peeking a beady eye
through the darkened clouds
it seems strange – you’d pull me out now
but look outside the window
weather patterns change
The sun might spread
its wonderous beams making it nice and hot
but i’m the cover against the wind
the rain and the falling mercury at night
And when there’s a nip in the summer air
you’ll be grateful i’m around
putting me over your head
without a sound
The Inkwell 