A pen to make my feelings known.
A pen to make the link.
A pen to tell the world I’ve sown,
the seeds to make me think.
A pen to write what’s on my mind.
A pen to tell my truth.
A pen that gathers all my kind;
their memories and their youth.
A pen that’s made to make ink sing.
A pen whose soul is pure.
A pen to make my poems ring.
This pen’s steadfast and sure.
This pen has fashioned art from naught.
This pen has drawn my blood.
This pen’s been with me as I’ve sought,
those Green Fields from the mud.