joys

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Oh pencil, Lead so fine and the wood dipped in yellow The feeling of wood in my palm, My senses ignight. The desire to write To draw  The feelings inside. This pencil of mine Is my life
Until our hearts hang by a rope,
As youth, we wish youth away, We wish to be older, for our adult days. To move away from home, To live self-instructed lives, To have our freedom and not worry about our parent guides.
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