QuillIt's been so short I remember still

It's been so short I remember still
As if my mind is just your quill

Where words still have the chance to thrill
Writ in black ink, naught to spill

So much there is that they fulfill
Quivering with faltered will

A fight that seems all but uphill
Still moves on paper, to distill

All those secrets it will spill
Lines brought forth as yet untill

At last the paper's had it's fill
And returneth now the empty quill