by Robert Thistle

Created on: August 23, 2008

My uneducated quill
Has twenty-six letters
Jammed into its boorish point

An aging hand thinks it has absolute control
Over the variations, mutations and limitless possibilities

Foolish child

It has been misguided by parental authority
Thundering down upon its weak and inefficient frame
With no regard for its unfettered mind
And unblemished soul

Freed
Words would flow
Margaret blush
Leaving a muddled world to wonder
Where's my beer

Learn more about this author, Robert Thistle.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.