Sometimes I’m glad I’m too old to bother.
Where’s me inkwell and quill?
Write a poem that includes the lines, "Sometimes I’m glad I’m too old to bother", and, "Where’s me inkwell and quill?"
Sometimes I’m glad I’m too old to bother,
With the world that moves so fast,
With all the noise and the clutter,
And the things that never last.
But then there are those moments,
When my heart starts to thrill,
And I yearn for simpler times,
Where’s me inkwell and quill?
For there’s a magic in the writing,
A power in the pen,
A way to capture fleeting thoughts,
And hold them tight again.
So I dip my quill in the inkwell,
And let my words take flight,
I lose myself in the writing,
And forget the world’s strife.
And in those moments of creation,
I’m young once more, it seems,
For age is just a number,
And dreams are ageless dreams.
So if you’re feeling tired and weary,
And the world seems too much to bear,
Just grab your inkwell and quill,
And let your soul take to the air.
