TO A POST-OFFICE INKWELL
How many humble hearts have dipped
In you, and scrawled their manuscript!
Have shared their secrets, told their cares,
Their curious and quaint affairs!
Your pool of ink, your scratchy pen,
Have moved the lives of unborn men,
And watched young people, breathing hard,
Put Heaven on a postal card.
While this poem is supposed to be for a post office ink well (since it was written close to 1920), it seems to describe many of our lives as well as we are written into by others, and we, in turn, write into the lives other others. What do you think?