Poetry

Flowing Ink

There’s a fountain I know,
Which it river has been flowing for years-
They were old men and women
Who had written about then and now
And then, they flew on and on…

There’s a fountain I know,
Which it river still flows now –
We are young boys and girls,
Writing about now and tomorrow,
Carving our names on the edges of time
And becoming pens in the hands of the creator.
Years will come:
When young boys and girls will turn old and weak,
When our voices will grow tired
And then, we shall fly on and on…

And in years to come,
Younger boys will lie on our skins,
They shall write about tomorrow and forever after,
We shall smile solemnly in our sweet slumbers,
For the ink flows on and on and on…

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