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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,
Iím convinced that my hand
has a mind of itís own.

Ivor G Davies

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