In the quiet whisper of a gentle glide,
The pen dances on a canvas wide.
Ink spills tales of dreams untold,
On paper, stories bold and old.

With every stroke, a world unfolds,
A universe crafted by hands that hold.
Silent symphonies of thoughts profound,
In written words, their voice is found.

Ink flows like rivers of endless time,
Etching moments, both sublime.
A humble tool in the writer’s hand,
Weaving magic across the land.

As pages turn, the pen’s tale grows,
Capturing life in gentle prose.
A faithful companion through night and day,
Forever crafting its own way.