The paper was made for the pen to write
Stories the Poet will read with delight,
But the page accepts words without meaning;
Not caring if the tale is wrong or right.
Poet, take this pen within Your great hand.
Allow it to write words that You command.
Take it, lovingly, in Your holy grasp.
Uphold it to learn, and to understand.
One letter at a time, is all it needs,
For the pen