The talking pen

Pics from: Depositphotos

Writing is to talk with an ink,
It remains and doesn't disappear.
I have learnt to talk creatively
So I don't raise dust that will remain and not disappear.


At night on my table, my heart boils
Dishes out hot meals for eyes to eat
And belle full or then decide if they want more.


As Twist they will want more
But as Oliver they will refuse another plate.


Then I ask,  has my food gotten down to the east
Nor to the south, has the west tasted it and passed to the north
Well if no, then my food is not tasty enough to go that far.
I have to add more ingredients