A Sliver Of Ink

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A pen is just a fountain
That works with gravity.
Its force can move a mountain,
Its power can set you free.

A sliver of ink slides down my pen,
And gathers at the tip.
It ekes its way out the end
To begin a wavy trip.

With whirls and swirls it begins to dance
And leaves its print upon my paper,
Every turn, twist and prance,
Helps shed light much like a taper.

My little poem is meant for thought,
And if you're rather clever,
A sliver of ink could help you think,
Of thoughts that last forever.

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