How can we forget the first poets labor
By candlelight and pondering right words
with a dip of his quill and set to parchment.
Words we still read and admire
Who would have thought these papers
Written in pen and ink would last all these years
Most poets long gone but are so revered.
We read their books and dream to be one of them
For their work was not done for fame or fortune
They had the passion to write
Love of the art to paint pain, happiness and pictures
With parchment and a quill.
What would these poets think of what we have
And, imagine how different their poems might be
Or would they still prefer their way
dipping a quill in ink, by candlight