The weight of pen in hand, that mighty sword
Whose deft sure strokes can carve a message grand,
Fair forge a country’s very will with words
Then sign a writ whereby a wretch be hanged;
A nation’s history loftily consigned,
A proclamation that can set men free,
A drafted law to have a race confined
And now a note to come have toast and tea.
To scribe the word of God in iron gall
And etch a statement to rest on the moon,
To challenge in meek words a tyrant tall
Or craft sweet rhyme to make a lover swoon.
What power immured in but a simple pen,
Here yet entrusted to the hands of men.
© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.