A pen to make my feelings known.
A pen to make the link.
A pen to tell the world I’ve sown,
the seeds to make me think.

A pen to write what’s on my mind.
A pen to tell my truth.
A pen that gathers all my kind;
their memories and their youth.

A pen that’s made to make ink sing.
A pen whose soul is pure.
A pen to make my poems ring.
This pen’s steadfast and sure.

This pen has fashioned art from naught.
This pen has drawn my blood.
This pen’s been with me as I’ve sought,
those Green Fields from the mud.

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The author

Adam Adamson still is an awesome shag... Well he is. Honest. But whatever, he has always loved to write, even before he could write. Its been a passion of his since he realised that others would read his stuff and get a little emotional. That gripped him really. Was it good or was it crap? Anyhoo! Enjoy reading what i’ve scribbled and who knows… one day it might make sense.

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