As I sat, fidgeting with my lifeless pen,
Clicking absentmindedly now and then,
I thought of my old school days,
when fountain pens had a special place.

With endless exams and mindful essays,
They left ink stains on hands and desk trays,
While the nib stood strong, it often broke its crown,
It scratched and splattered as I wrote down.

Etching my destiny with every stroke,
Leaving ink on paper to blot and soak,
My life was slow...