My Pen Is My Plough

my pen
is my  plough
drawing  lines
across the page
planting  words
row after row
feeding  them
with my enthusiasm
watered by the  
sweat of the brow
watching  them grow
line by line
words flow
like water
trickling  over
across
and into the soil
at times I frown
but more often a smile
creative  toil
till the  page
my tilled field
is covered  in
strawberry sweetness
sour  gooseberries
new ripe apples
doing  the Newton leap
a fresh field of poetry
to feed the soul and heart
from sonnet
to punnet