In the deepest lake of a city,
A turtle sits in his chair
The entire night he watches,
Without moving a single hair
Fitted between his fingers,
Is a pen of the deepest blue
To the wandering human eye,
It appears as perfectly new
But the turtle knows much
better,
Than an ants curious mind
He treasures this ancient
relic,
That took so long to find
For years it sat upon a desk,
Shielding itself from the sun
Stuck inside a pencil case
Not knowing where to run
Til the day he was picked
up,
Left on a bench in
the park
To find his new home in a
pocket,
Shortly after dark
From there he travelled the
world,
Asia, France, Australia
Only to be dropped in the
sand
And discovered by Aurelia
Two books she wrote with that
pen,
Their beginning, middle and
end
Until it wrote its final word
Ending a sentence with
“send”.
On the way to the publisher,
Aurelia dropped her bag
The pen rolled toward a
grate,
And slipped behind a rag
Far down it fell,
Gently floating through a lake
Landing on top of a jelly
fish,
It managed not to wake
He shook his head
frustratedly,
And the pen fell to the floor
Resting with a little nudge
Against a turtles door
Sara xx
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