In the dance of ink, a pen takes flight,
A silent scribe in the canvas of night.
It weaves tales in strokes, a poet's delight,
Capturing the essence of life's fleeting light.
A faithful companion, in hand it rests,
Recording journeys, putting fears to rest.
In the script of existence, each line is blessed,
A testimony of struggles, of love's conquest.
Through the strokes, emotions find their voice,
In the parchment of time, where memories rejoice.
The pen, a witness to both pain and joys,
In its ink, the essence of life employs.
Life unfolds in chapters, a story untold,
The pen as a guide, in narratives bold.
Through valleys of sorrow and mountains of gold,
It narrates the saga, both young and old.
So, let the pen dance, an ode to life's song,
In the silence of words, where echoes belong.
A storyteller's tool, where echoes prolong,
The pen and life, in harmony strong.
-