For I am a pen
and the paper is my friend.
My blood is its ink
till the flow comes to end.



My thoughts are treasured
in black and white.
For the words are spoken
of husband and wife.



Casting away 
a hard struggle life.
And grudges are held
by family members.
For precious years
are unremembered.



My heart makes a song
as tears often fall.
And my hand does the singing
for each different call.



As the ink begins its gentle flow
ever so slow.
My thoughts are 
happy and sad.
Which cause such silent tears
for my dear Granddad



Such feelings have surfaced
from so deep inside
For I must write
to confide



I fear for what
they might think
About each word
written in its rich ink



My trusted friend ...
whether right or wrong
Do bring this heartache 
to its end of such silent tears



For I am a plain pen
and these papers are my most
"Dearest Friend"



5 March 1987