Poem
Eve, Age 11, Denver, CO
                     
I can think of nothing,
The lines on the page
Stare back at me
With big blue eyes.
My mind dry as a desert,
Once in a while
A drop of an idea
Drops down like rain
And fades away.
I search and search
In this dry sandy desert
For an idea, it goes on forever,
My mind deep in thought
The paper white blank perfect
Asking for words.
My pencil freshly sharpened
Waiting for a mission
Its endless wait for words,
I’ve got it a sea of words
A sea of perfect unique words,
The paper saying
”Do it, write on me”
My pencil touches
The paper,
The teacher says, “Time's up.”
The sea turns into a puddle
The puddle into a drop
The drop
into
N
O
T
H
I
N
G
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ISSN 1703-3020

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