It bleeds,
My pen bleeds, my pen bleeds.
Whether it is my forte, I cannot fault.
Bleed blue, bleed black, and bleed red …
Oh! My paper,
What a kinder compassion you are,
Always ready to soak-up thoughts
From this soul forever in season,
Oh! Dearest paper,
You soak evanescent thoughts, you soak emotions,
You soak to talk back to eyes,
What I have told you.
©2001
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