I hold the pen in my hand
With many words to say
But the door of my heart is crowded
With words getting in others words way.

Each wants to rush forth and be first
Each thinks himself most important
But if any word gets on paper
He is the one most fortunate.

But let these little words
That have pushed through the door
Be the little words
That won't push around anymore.

They've made their way onto paper
Though unimportant they may be
But the word standing in the door
Is wishing it were he.

My heart is stirred by a noble theme
as I recite my verses for the king;
my tongue is the pen of a skillful writer.

Psalm 45:1