When I pick up my inky pen
And curl up in my cozy den
Then start to scribble in my journal
All my thoughts, deep, internal
All the love in my heart
Joins my sorrow and becomes a part
Of this story created by
A wishful smile or hopeful sigh
Writing is a love of mine
It lifts me up to heavens divine
My aching hand at once forgives
The newborn story that now lives
To cure and help those diseased
Painful boredom now has ceased
The tales I create, whether false or true
Bellow a message, through to you
Writing to me has brought
A way to organize my messy thoughts
It’s a way to speak, a way to be heard
Simply by jotting a sentence or word
Any idea can grow to be
A paragraph, essay, or epic, you see
It can caress like a mist or cut like a knife
Writing is truly the love of my life
And curl up in my cozy den
Then start to scribble in my journal
All my thoughts, deep, internal
All the love in my heart
Joins my sorrow and becomes a part
Of this story created by
A wishful smile or hopeful sigh
Writing is a love of mine
It lifts me up to heavens divine
My aching hand at once forgives
The newborn story that now lives
To cure and help those diseased
Painful boredom now has ceased
The tales I create, whether false or true
Bellow a message, through to you
Writing to me has brought
A way to organize my messy thoughts
It’s a way to speak, a way to be heard
Simply by jotting a sentence or word
Any idea can grow to be
A paragraph, essay, or epic, you see
It can caress like a mist or cut like a knife
Writing is truly the love of my life

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