This Lead
My words can be written,
But not spoken in tone.
This lead is my home.
A pencil is but what a writer makes it,
And i make it my own.
This lead is my home.
I can write all day,
But i cant sleep all night,
Is that right?
Day by day,
And night by night,
I write and write.
The lead in this pencil
Is but what i make it.
I make this lead my home.
Unspoken words are but what i do,
And now this poem is through.
I will not speak,
But I will write,
Even if it takes me all day,
And all night.
Copyright © Hope Ballard | Year Posted 2010
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