Her pencil swiftly glides across the paper that she uses.
Lines and swirls all coming into one.
She draws, erases, draws some more.
Curses when it isn't quite right.
Then she sets her pencil down.
Pushes her chair away.
Walks out of the room.
Not five seconds later, racing back.
Pulling in her chair.
Picking up her pencil.
Starting to draw again.
The constant life cycle of an artist.
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I wrote this for a friend who was having difficulty drawing. But she appreciated this poem!
