A reed pen’s nib is slit to hold the ink. It drinks from the inkwell, runs dry, and its tears are the writing.
It has a split in its head, and through it writing is made known. Give it a drink and it wants more, as if it were parched. When it runs dry, it rests. Tell it to run and it sheds tears, but tears that shine like a smile. What is it?
Give me a hintThe hint
You’d dip it before you used it.