Accidental Poet

Holding Pen

Something of a metaphor

This place to keep my prose

It might begin as an idea

And within my heart it grows

Sometimes with pen in hand

Quickly, I’ll write it down

Should it not flow well

I’ll change it all around

Held within my pen

Of varied flock

My children, if you will

Born of ticks from the clock

I’ll birth you of passion

Watch you grow and mature

Signed by me with pride

Certain of that I’m sure

So here my children you’ll live

Within my holding pen

Your sisters and brothers will join you

When again I’m holding pen

Copyright © Accidental Poet 2011