I winged a flight of fancy by flap's hap:
All-plucky, birds refused me feather quill;
Even my high-coo pigeon... cheeky Jap!
It happened when errant, and a raven
My inkwell spilt in splitting from its cage,
Birds heard my cry, "Fowl play!", and fled haven...
Rage incandescent: ink on desk and page!
Forgetting birds; Guttenburg laid to rest:
Pressed for time, a typewriter's ironic...
Geese had left eggs with quills on Shelley desk;
Biros nicked (borrowed) make desk Byronic.
When pen-tired, I'd a downward dreamy bleat,
"Quilt quills, as eiderdown, would biros beat!"
I dreamt up this obviously fictional account quite recently as an introductory illustration to my blog's title... a thought that sprang surrepticiously enough from glancing the bic brand of my biro whilst penning iambic pentametre in a rather amateurish fashion! You may notice some self-referencing going on already to my haiku above?
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