With my pen at hold and one hand on the table,
I stare at this destined blue lined paper
I point my pen down, and the black river flows,
stretching through the page a like a river of gold
The words find thier place on these once empty lines,
they dance like rain, and shine of magic
The spaces fill up and silence is torn as the words sing out their enchanting song, my pen the wand, words the dancers
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