The Pen

Grey and black, it stand's up long,
Fat and thick, look's like king kong.

Once I etch, it does not fade,
Germany or Russia, is where it's made.

Peacocks, flowers and butterflies I drew,
Yet it stands like a strong ship's crew.

Over and again, my patterns swirl,
Slow and steady, the designs twirl.

Lovingly the gaps, I nicely fill,
Carefully textured, like a fish's gill.

Soon the flow stops, like it's in pain,
The time has come, to buy it again.

Now, Behold, I own a new one,
Papers scattered, the war is done.


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