My old blue fountain pen allows
The ink across this page to flow
Like wet paint from an artist’s brush,
And words come in a rush.
Enchanting through the hand that writes .
Bewitched by art,beauty alights.
The script is like a music score
Bewitched by art,beauty alights.
The script is like a music score
Through which we step as through a door,
Imagination’s home.
Imagination’s home.
As,mysteriously, to you, to me,
The spirits of our hearts are tamed ,
By rhythms of pen,of brush, of mind,
They enter vision quite unplanned,
Like moths to flutter softly round
Fire joined hand and heart.
The pen slows down,the hand grows still,
And just as dreams at daybreak will
They shrink,they disappear,they’re gone,
I nearly caught that one!
How my heart sings 