A Sonnet

The pen, though powerless til held by man,
Can write a world of wonder on each page.
It dances, and the paper is its stage,
As words form one by one ... a caravan
To snake across the void by Master Plan ...
To fill a child with awe ... to teach a sage,
To free imagination from its cage.
Just like a paint brush to an artisan,
This wondrous tool, when used by men of verse,
Creates immortal 'pictures' to be read ...
From Psalms of praise to evil oaths that curse.
And when it's done and nothing's left unsaid,
Its universal language we rehearse
Long after pen and poet are both dead.

March 1988
Jacqueline Allen