When one does not know what to write
To manifest one's poetic might
There's naught for it but to endeavour
Or silence one's true voice forever

If trials of word and sword alike
Would fain at points of weakness strike
Which slays erelong? Which saps all will?
Misjudge not the humble, deadly quill

For what are words but the breath of life?
It shapes the world and settles strife
Gives beauty voice, shares wit and woe
A power Gods and mortals know.