I perused poems for half an hour,
Beyond my bed’s curfew,
But when I finished reading them,
I longed to write anew.
She was a nice piece of paper,
Who danced with ink before,
And when pressed, she was open to,
More words she could explore.
The pen was searching for his cap,
And said he needed work,
So I hired him right off the floor,
And hoped he would not shirk.
The three of us wrote together,
With a cross-out or two,
But there in marginal lines stood,
Our friend named Something New.
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