in a dream I seen a poet & a
"magical quill" a quill
that writes poetry of poets deceased,

poems they could not get out,
for they died before they had the chance,

Poems of all poets past, since poetry Began,

Filling up the poets small room, "their, all the poets where, "patiently awaiting their turn,

Where did I get this quill, it just appeared, from where did it come, Said the poet that wrote the poems of an infinite number of poets since poetry began,

The poet could hear poetry in His sleep and often in his daydreams too,

But the poet had no clue,
that it was spirits telling him what to do,

The poet simply lived for poetry, he'd have poetry for breakfast,
Poetry as a midday meal,
poetry for an evening meal,

Even in conversation he'd often rhyme from time to time,

People often thought it strange,
They laughed at him most days, poking fun for he often seemed to be in a daze,

But they loved his poetry,
It was so unexpected,
for the poet was poor & dyslexic,

Then one day the poet put all his poems in a very large book, got it published,
picked up his quill & began to write even more again. The never ending poems of the spirits of the magical quill. © by Vincent Von ellesmere 2019.