PENNING MY PENSIVE THOUGHTS         

 

 My first  birthday, retold by many, as though it happened now, I  remember,
 Father gave me a gift, which I cherished it till recently, with all my pride,
 A pencil to kick start my learning skills, to blossom my thoughts and steer,
 So  began my sojourn in life, to master this, my little servant with the tide.

 Years rolled by, many a summer gone, my zest with the pencil still sound,
 Meanwhile I lost my father, I lost my best gift ,so too the pencil he gave,
 The thought of it, in my mind altogether disappeared in the background,
 May be my failing memory deceived me, when this news struck my nerve.

 A lady, an octogenarian, the mother of my friend, writing autobiography,
 I admire her penchant, I bow to her calligraphy, to write even at this age,
 When holding a pen itself a challenge, at best a walking stick, the mighty
 That stirred my sagging literary spirits, to bolster my writing courage,

 Her dedication taught me a message. skill and determination, all in facades
 Age never a factor, leading a cherished life till thy senses indeed  a thrift,
 You cannot hide thy talents in the shadow of senility, in advancing decades,
 With a rejuvenated interest, I searched again, finally I found my lost gift.