The Fountain Pen

There was a clever fountain pen,
made not to be much glad.
A thing cannot be gleeful when
it is. It must be sad.

But this thing really would not hate.
It thought it was a toy!
And as a toy it would create,
for sadness to be joy!

A fountain pen, of course, was not
what it was. It was damned.
That name was given it, was got,
so it should say, I am.

In fact it was a he, that pen.
In fact he was a boy.
And, he did choose to be damned when
he was to God a toy.

A fountain pen to God his gate,
as poet he was good.
By lovely words he did create.
That was quite understood.

The morale of this poem is,
that being damned is not
so bad if one is good by this
by motive one has got.