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NO POINT
I’m losing the point on my pencil and I still need to write,
Words are flowing like free water after a time of blight.
It is as though some dam has broken letting the ideas flow
So fast that they flood my mind and out onto paper go.
I want to write about the sky so blue and the sun shining bright,
And the way the wings of the young seagulls catch the sunlight.
I want to tell you what the trees whisper to me as they sway.
I need to tell the whole world of what I’ve learned this day.

Now my mind wanders to some far off, distant, unknown place,
There I go to seek and find things of great beauty and grace.
There is a mountain just waiting for me to climb and so see
Far across the ocean, almost high enough to see into eternity.
There is still a little point on my pencil so I’ll tell of other things
That my overactive mind finds and the visions that it brings.
I’m by the mighty ocean, or in a warm safe green grassy glen,
But my pencil point has almost gone and I cannot find a pen.

(Millicent) Ann Margetson June 30, 2003