I am a pen the Lord can grip,
And write as He would will.
His is the ink that flows through me,
His the message: strong or still.
When writing is done the pen is gone,
The quill is not remembered.
The ink remains across the days,
Readily read, unhindered.
May no pen: larger or smaller,
Take pride in what it has written.
May no quill: shorter or taller,
Think it the heart has smitten.
After the pen is packed away,
What remains is the bold ink.
Long after the pen’s “had its small day,”
It’s the ink that makes the reader think. -eab, 8/1/07
Separate-Holy 
Very good, Dad. I enjoyed reading this.
Love,
Phillip