Your Quill, My Error

I try to describe you in words
But the quill and the scroll are foreign to me
Laden objects in my hand
Refusing to do as I command them
For they are instruments of peace
And I never was too good with that.
That is why I am the warrior,
And you are the bard.
So as I stare blankly at the empty parchment
Scribing the words to my own head;
Sweet clear eyes and loving smile,
Soul of reckless abandon,
Impish grin shining with mischeif and endearment,
A fun-loving giggle to warm my heart,
A soul flying free in innocence,
The unfailing love for others,
The words that weave and dance from your tongue,
The tumble of pictures spawned from an over-active imagination -
But words of your gift, your beauty,
Your glory, your love,
Never seem to fill the empty parchments
Instead they brand themselves in my mind
And my heart. It is said that the pen is mightier than the sword.
Looking at you, I finally understand why.

Bardic
January, 1998