I catch a word that’s swimming by

And set it up on the bank to dry

Another wriggles past my grip

The waters cool so I take a sip

And words I drink mix with those who think

Their feathery touch brinks out the ink

Just like a quill from ancient times

The commoners prose and the high class rhymes

The furtive pen will write a line

And only I know

I know not from where they come

I only see them when they’re done

In the stream I see the sun

a shimmering reflection well begun

A word comes up to bask in it

I’m right there to write with it

I’m just there and having fun

It writes itself — that’s the pun.

Courtesy : Maryam Daftari