I forsook my special pen
That once helped me jot down
My life in lyrical way, open,
And that now gives me a let down!
For how many days had I written,
In how many ways, but still
That old gift is not rotten;
Let me start again, with my quill!
My heart has poems, joyous ones
Leaping to flow out in several ways,
With wavering emotions in tons
To rebuild the glory of olden days!