Quill parked in pages

Image by Karen Ewald from Pixabay

The pages were her home, the words her neighbours,

she was more than a drifty little quill;

She wafted through emotions high and low,

nestled in tales that gave her her fill.

Wild and woolly, she rolled from stone to stone,

till a throbbing soul took her in her fold,

saved her for the tomes, parked her in stories,

folded her into sleep when the day'd grow old.

She'd slide in and out, travel light like she always did;

Save the tears, glean the smiles, know her seeker's  every whim.

Pile to pile, cover to cover, page to page, hurt to heal,

the quill savored the unsaid yarns, the plot twists and their every wheel.

Happy she was to find a spot in the world of all things real and reel;

Placed between pages of yesterday and tomorrow,

a fantasy ride she often could steal.