The quill that wrote once
Now lay on the desk, broken.
The parchment lay on the desk
Waiting to feel the quill on it
The quill is thirsty, but the ink is dry
The hand does not even want to try.
But ~
One fine night
When the moon shines bright
The quill will be picked up
And its thirst quenched
One fine night,
The quill will passionately love the parchment
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