Vouchsafe Me a Pot of That Ink Dale Tudge The sheets on my bureau were thirsty for ink. “O Muse, descend and lend thy gracious wit Upon this trembling hand and barren page, Pour down some measure of thy boundless store, For I am parched, and there are no words To quench our thirst.” I was eager to write, to slake, to draft and to draught, to sate my droughty sheets. However, the pot of P. & J. Arnold’s was dryer than the Queen’s amusement. Also, I had chewed my quill to the rachis. And I knew not what parch meant.
I repeat: there was no finer #writing potion than Stephens' Blue-Black. Yet the blue, the black—and the black-blue—were all of equal #inkly merit.
*I am not, nor shall I be again, affiliated with the inky proprietor of 191 Aldersgate Street. I swear it on my own Stephens' crimson.
#vss365 #prose