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His Pen Ran Dry

For the memory of Ivor Higg, R.I.P.

His pen ran dry, as happens to every writer,
The pool of ideas of the mind no longer cast their mark upon paper
But live on the minds of the readers,
Who recall each image cast, as if playful caper

A name, a verse recalled, every writer
Their legacy of pictures cast in minds from stories told
Recalled with fond smiles after their day,
When their memory’s long forgotton, and bodies cold

Statues after sculptures stand through time
But sculptures cast no image for the blind
Unlike a writers words, carved in ink upon a page,
Carved in memories upon the readers mind.

Someday too, we writers shall write our final chapter…
Let us hope our memory brings a tear to the eye
Of all who knew us, even if only from the paper…
Who solace found when sought before our pens ran dry.

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