Telling where the wind comes from
Saying if you have millions or only some

Drawing the clouds in different colored skies
Painting the paths for birds to fly

Fighting for rights you believe you should have
That this is right, and this is bad

Reliving the moment, what has passed
Paw prints on walls, all from the past

Remembering the smile with strength from heaven
Or waiting for Santa, twelve past eleven

Writing stories, meant to inspire
Acknowledging people, we all admire

Who we are, who we want to be
Our beliefs, our story

Some wood and some lead
A little spark from your head

A writing utensil, now out-of-date
Pencils are worth it
Don’t make them wait