Wisdom and Glory

I stop.

There it is,

My Quill.

There it sits, jet black and beautiful,

In all its wisdom and glory.

It tells a story, my story,

It learns with me,

Grows with me.

As I lift it from its case, firecrackers seem to explode in my fingers.

As it weaves its words, I see myself in the blood red ink.

It's magic beyond all your imagination.

I love my Quill,

Jet Black and sleek.

It holds a secret, my secret

My Quill.