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"the turning quill"
The Turning Quill
The ink is wet on the page of tomorrow,
its lines not yet set in stone.
We can seed it with care or stain it with sorrow,
but the hand that writes is our own.
If we guard the truth like a flame in the wind,
and speak though the silence is deep,
then even in shadows, the light will begin—
a promise the future can keep.
