Just a stick of wood,
that feels so good.
A pencil awaits a hand,
for alone it can not stand.
And lie it never should.
~
With paper it melds,
emotion thus swells.
Then feeling as should,
the lines understood.
And life’s pokes it quells.
~
The mind set free,
the future we see.
The past that is earned,
a new leaf is turned.
But breaks will always be.

~*~
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