What will be written here today?

I have no idea,

Though I sit before my bureaux,

Quill in hand and parchment clear.

When suddenly from nowhere,

The words begin to form,

A story, written down in verse,

Where on earth did that come from?

Tis true , it was my hand that moved,

The quill across the sheet,

But as though some spirit, yet unseen,

Had gained control of me.

To describe in minute detail,

Far and exotic scenes,

With mythological creatures,

Which few have ever seen.

Sometimes the images described,

Are of desert sands and dunes,

At other times it’s mighty ships,

Rough seas and mutinous crews.

Though I could not tell a mizzen mast,

From the fore deck or the aft,

Nor have I humour in my soul,

Enough to make another laugh.

Yet here it is before me,

On parchment, black and white,

What sorcery exists to force,

The likes of I to write?

For tis clearly written in my hand,

For all the world to see,

Yet by someone far more learned,

Than I could ever claim to be.

Is this perchance the devils trick?

Or a gift from God, who knows?

Could he, through me, mysteriously,

Be the author of my pro’s.

Or are forces far more sinister,

In league to guide my quill?

I do not know, I never have,

And I probably never will.

By S.E.Ralph

25-7-2018