Art, Pen

Words

They swallow.

They cover and discover.

They fumble and mumble,

tumble and down they crumble,

under the ideas they carry.

They bury within or sometimes, just give in.

Like wrinkled feet in winter they tell a lot,

they can be cold, could mold a plot.

They are seeds of thought.

Water them, and show them some light,

share the shadow they carry and fruits they bear.

Happy New Year.

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