A poem for no reason, but the enjoyment of a new pen

Straight away, oh I say!
How smooth the silk that flows so freed,
from my newest nib.
I feel that I might write a line,
and free it from its lid.

New ponderings, new creativity,
I hope now bid to free,
and as I write and smoothly flow,
I wonder which shall lead.
Should thought lead pen,
or ink lead thought?
which flows with more panache?

And shall I even ponder such,
or spend my time amuse,
else shall I mearly let it run
resulting lines peruse.

What joy, what fun,
so easily is found,
I only free that substance,
already paper bound.

Golden Child

Ribbons of gold and russet brown
cascading gently, cross my brow.

They fall with sweep, with some panache,
then overlapping lay...

and as my mother's hands carress,
they softly glint in halflight's sleep,

and finally a resting place,
my texture softly gleams...

ribbons of gold and russet brown
descend upon my dreams.