Scribble, little scribble, a line with curves grows,
Words appear through my pen, how, I don’t know.
A doodle with words that paint a picture so clear,
From feelings and fears, and hearts I hold dear.
Scribble, little scribble, you take on a life of your own,
Creating a quilt from patches of life, you have sewn.
What starts as a spot on the paper, blank and new,
Becomes a story that is shared with many and few.
Scribble, little scribble, from whispers of the soul,
You lead the way to heal, to mend and to make whole.
The words trickle from the muse, who whispers to me,
And paints the picture for all, who wish to see.
Scribble, little scribble, you were once called nonsense,
Yet you opened the gate to a world that once was fenced.
Dreams and fears and joys unable to be said out loud,
Words which now dance and dare to be proud.
Scribble, little scribble, so many years you saw me through,
My life was made perfect, from your lines and curlicues.
The words you drew, gave my own voice a chance to say,
That these words have brought me to where I can rejoice today.
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