The Quill Poem by Mark Boyle

A pen and quill,
soaked with ink.
Would touch a page,
so blank and cruel.
A word is formed,
alone no more.
A story is born,
for all to adore.
A shining joust.
A beautiful Queen.
A flightless bird.
A child to wean
What’s in a word.
A story true.
What form will
it take, from
that inky fuel.