In the quiet of the night, it glides,
A silent partner in the dance of thought,
With every stroke, a world abides,
In ink, the dreams are gently caught.

Upon the page, it spills its tale,
Of love and loss, of time and space,
Each line a whisper, soft and frail,
Yet strong enough to leave a trace.

The pen, a bridge from soul to soul,
Connecting hearts with every line,
Its power lies in making whole,
The scattered pieces of the mind.

So wield it well, this humble tool,
For in its grasp, the stories start,
In every word, a world to rule,
With pen in hand, we craft our art.