Her slender hands dipped a quill

Into the bottle by the window sill

As, slowly, she began to write

The thoughts that clouded her mind

that night.

 

She scratched and scribbled on the paper.

The letters she wrote were one of love's labours.

Those letters became such beautiful words

And the words formed the lines of a beautiful verse.

 

She wrote another verse... and another... and another.

Her soul on paper she wanted to smother.

Finally, she stopped and looked at her paper.

She'd written about another mischievous caper.