Old Poetry Poetry • Poets • Essays • Forums •

An Incubus

Sobbed the Blotter to the Ink,
"Though your every word I drink,
Your broken lines alone are my reward."
"The truth," said he, "you've spoken;
And no wonder they are broken
When you press me so incessantly and hard."

Leave a guest comment (subject to review)

    : Comment:

    Name: (required)
    Email: (required, hidden from spam)