As mine eyes scan these written

words, tears of horror running

down my cheeks, I am smitten

by your bright color. Your cunning

and adept talent to correct all

mistakes with a swish

of your point is not a small

feat. No other utensil can wish

to reach the magnitude of your red

ink's power over the words

meant to be read

by teachers and students, jocks and nerds.

O! such a possession could only be

given by the great god of war

to eliminate a great enemy.

Like a powerful force feared far

and wide, you sweep down upon your foes,

spilling their blood in your quest

to correct the insurgence, which arose

against your command to arrest

those who disobey your royal

decree. No one can hide

when you begin to hunt those who are disloyal

to your laws of grammar and sense of pride.

Even when all your red ink

has flown free of your casing,

I will sit quietly and always think

of the times spent praising

the good and changing the bad.

Memories of the smell of your color as it dries

and the smooth feel as you add

your marks to the page will bring tears to my eyes

of fond remembrance. Though years

will have passed, praises to you will

still be shouted when errors premiere

and I stand upon the holy hill.