The tool she uses is a pen;
her power lies in words.
And when she starts to write again,
her mind is all she'll hear.
She holds the sunshine in her hand,
at least, she'll say she does.
She'll time her life in grains of sand,
in those that she holds dear.
The worlds she travels lie in books,
the earth's hers to explore.
Her smile's like a silver hook;
you'll always want her near.
So give her lots of pens and ink,
and pages, hers to fill,
give her lots of room to think,
and love her with no fear.
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