Not your travelling words
vanishing in the sky - -
Silence should not be wounded
with elusive cry.
Pen a few lines
with ink,
leave a little human touch.
I enjoy the sound of
afternoon steps of the old messenger.
Pen a few lines
I'll peer
I'll smell
I'll open
I'll kiss your fine arrival.
You'll grow like a tree
to touch the sky,
you'll droop
to bring forth seeds of a new beginning.
Wherever you are,
steal some time
from your inky sky.
I promise my answer in silence
with a vintage quill.
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