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My Hand
I look
at the paper
the paper is clear,
I wonder what words
are about to appear.
When I
start to write
I just follow my pen,
and only when written,
can I read it, then.
I stare
in amazement
at what I just wrote,
sometimes so touching
lumps grow in my throat.
Sometimes so funny,
I laugh when I see
the words that my hand
has just written for me.
When
pen touches paper,
abroad or at home,
I’m convinced that my hand
has a mind of it’s own.
Ivor G Davies
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