Poem submitted by Nava D. Pollak, age 11.
That never stops using words
A unique fountain pen
Who’s nib points flat down,
Yet up
To let ink out just right
Fill it up in the color you want
Make it yours
Right now this pen feels alive
So much extra time to write
But this pen is so sad
For in the wrong hands this pen
Writes things learns things
A poor pen shouldn’t have to know
But this pen can be used by a child
A child who finds the obvious topic
EXTREMELY
BORING
In those hands
The small soft hands of a child
This pen is happy,
For it gets to write down
This child’s entire imagination
Whatever wonderful words
This young writer has in store
In a child’s hand,
This pen is not
Just
A pen
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