In the quiet moments of the night,
When stars whisper secrets to the moon,
The pen dances on paper, a silent knight,
Crafting worlds in the dimly lit room.

It holds the power to capture dreams,
A conduit of thoughts, raw and pure,
With every stroke, a new idea gleams,
A timeless tool with a purpose so sure.

From the depths of sorrow to peaks of delight,
The pen sketches emotions unseen,
In black ink or hues so bright,
It inks the stories that have always been.

A silent companion, always by my side,
Through joy, through tears, it remains,
In its embrace, I confide,
For the pen, my voice, forever sustains.