A writer of sorts,
Who was struggling greatly with his stories.
He could not think,
He could not imagine,
He was without idea.
His wife nagged him to go for a walk,
To clear his mind,
But he insisted…
“My mind is clear and that is the problem!”
Still, he left the house,
Strolled down to the market,
With his head hung low,
Kicking and dragging his feet.
He scuffed past the fruits and vegetables on sale,
He skated past the perfumes and jewellery stand,
But he stopped in his tracks once he reached the antiques,
Perched upon an old stool,
Upon the stall table,
Rested the most beautifully,
On the box were scribed two letters,
The letters were W and S.
And looked at the bard.
“Caught your eye has it?” spoke the seller.
The bard nodded.
“It is beautiful,
What is inside it?”
The seller waved his hand and shook his head,
“No, no” he spluttered,
“I don’t elaborate for people who aren’t genuine buyers.”
The bard grabbed his wallet full of money and shook it,
“I am interested! I am a buyer!”
The seller paused,
Unclipped the latch,
And opened the box.
Inside, was nothing.
“It’s empty!” shouted the bard angrily,
“To the layman, perhaps,
But this is not an empty box.”
The seller pulled out something,
Pinching between his fingers.
“This is an invisible quill,
It belonged to the greatest bard,
Mr Shakespeare himself.
It inspired him to write plays and poems.”
The seller put the quill back,
And closed the box.
“It’s yours for that wallet and all its contents.”
The bard starred,
His eyes lit up,
“SOLD!” he yelled,
And handed over his wallet.
The seller gave him a pot of ink to go with it for free,
And also this warning…
ALWAYS PUT THE QUILL AWAY WHEN YOU ARE FINISHED!
The bard left,
And locked himself in his room.
For hours he furiously wrote and scribed,
Scribbled and jotted,
Until he had composed his greatest story ever!
He flung his quill into the air and cried ‘Eureka!’
He grabbed his papers,
And rushed to his wife.
He read the story and she applauded.
“How did you think of such a wonderful thing?” asked his wife.
And the bard took her into the study,
And showed her the box,
And explained about the magical quill.
His wife looked at him blankly.
“Where is the quill?” she inquired,
It dawned upon him,
In his joy he had flung the quill across the room,
And it was now lost to the copious papers,
That filled his room.
He curled up into a ball and began to sob,
As he rocked back and forth,
He yelled out…
“ALWAYS PUT THE QUILL AWAY WHEN YOU ARE FINISHED!”