Today my purple pen died on me. It has come 1300 miles, chronicling every day. It was a good pen, faithful and true, working in freezing temperatures and hot. For 900 miles I have carried a backup, expecting mine to run dry. I am sorry I had so little faith in you, purple pen. I am sorry you will never see New York.
Your mother speaking---A pen, of any other color, will still write. Have courage, my dear, in the face of this diversity.
ReplyDelete