My old dip pen made splotches
on my desk.
It wrote upon the page with leaks and spills
Freud would slip in quietly and with zest.
Before he asked for money for his bills
A splotch looks like King Boris with no throne
A splash looks like a cow stood all alone
A line of writing seems to be severe.
But as it’s yours I’ll love it well my dear
How my heart sings 