‘Ho hum, ho hum,’
Went the little pen.
‘What shall I write for my mistress today?’
Went the little pen.

‘Shall I write a romantic ballad,
To break the hearts of all?
Or maybe a clever haiku,
That speaks of spring and fall?
Then again, mayhap an epic poem,
Of battle and love and loss,
And a little princess who waits in a tower,
With nothing to do but floss.

Perhaps a novel with chapters aplenty,
Should be my next project today!
Or instead, a political satire of those
Who promise, but then go out and play.’

So the pen mused for hours on end,
And could not make up his mind,
For he knew he would KNOW it
Whenever at last the perfect idea he’d find.

But just like every other day,
The pen gave up so soon,
Because a hand was now upon him,
And a voice too, begging a boon.
‘Oh write with me, please,
My dearest of pens.
We’ll create and muse,
And let us be friends!’

So just like every day,
The poor pen – he gave in,
And in the hand of his mistress,
He wrote, and he grinned.

Can you say ‘lack of structure’? I know it doesn’t flow all that well, but it’s late, and I’m tired, and darn it, I wanted to write a poem about a pen!