And then she wrote…

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Another very quickly thrown-together poem. I promise I’ll try harder next time.

As always, x

No feeling is greater

Than a pen nestled snuggly between one finger

And the next

Whether its purpose is for doodling

Taking notes

Or simply writing text

A sturdy object

Elegant yet strong

It writes

Takes no notice

Of brightest days

Or darkest nights

Is there to jot down

Ideas, thoughts

And still

Must never be recharged

But works gladly

At your will

The pen is humble

Never asks for much

Is grateful merely

Of its owner’s touch

One day it will stop

Abrupt mid-word

And die

Then to the unassuming pen

We must sign

Our last goodbye.

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