If I were a pencil
I'd soar
I'd glide and race
over the paper.
My black shoes would
wear down to my feet,
pulling me to the ground
just to be renewed again.
My tough wooden body
would move like a leaf
when it touched paper,
taking a breath
to move me quickly
over the sheet.
My brown head
is dizzy,
as I loop the O
in the clear space,
all day
I could
drift and glide
and
sweep
into
magical worlds.
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