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Inkling Whispers of a Novice Soul
In the quiet shadows of unsung words,
A novice soul, its voice unheard.
"I'm no writer," whispers the doubt,
Yet within, tales yearn to break out.
Pen in hand, a hesitant start,
Inkling dreams from a timid heart.
Lines unfurl like petals shy,
Blooming verses, learning to fly.
Imperfect phrases dance and sway,
Crafting tales in the humblest way.
No grand prose, just a sincere try,
To let the soul's whispers amplify.
Through stumbles and ink-stained regret,
The novice writer learns to set
Words to rhythm, a heartfelt ode,
An evolving tale, on life's road.
"I'm no writer," echoed in the past,
Yet with each line, a spell is cast.
For in the journey of pen and page,
A writer blooms, regardless of age.
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