Art

21 3 0
                                    

Sitting at my desk,

A pencil in my hand,

Ideas begin to flow

And take me to a far off land.

My hand moves of its own accord

And my thoughts gently flow

Onto the white paper

For all the world to know

For them all to know

The wonders in my mind.

To let them understand

The truth to which they are blind.

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