Ode to a fountain pen

‘Oh, pen!’

says me.

‘I shall always remember that day,

the seventeenth Thursday in May,

nineteen seventeen oh five,

when I found you

drowning in the fountain

in Rome,

in Italy,

where Rome is usually,

but not always, found.

You were plucked from an inky depth,

and retrieved from the promise of death

by my writing hand.

Upon dry land,

you came back to your senses,

gasped of the air,

and nibbled past tenses

like a pro.

Oh, pen,

now, when your fluids are almost dry,


do I find the thought

and action difficult,

of keeping you

when your purpose has flown by?

It is hard

to keep a pen

that one should discard.

But, my memoirs

shall not be writ

by you,

nor am I a hypocrite;

having said, my friend,

that I wouldst keep you

until the end.’


NB title was taken from ‘A Murder is Announced’ by Agatha Christie.

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