After many years of holding
It became so anxious and fed up;
Always to be ordered,
Directed by my thoughts and feelings,
And about its dream,
Found nothing, but ignoring.
Finally,
My dear pen decided
Not to be such a slave again;
Yesterday I saw it standing
By all its strength
With no word to complain,
Putting my glasses on,
Sniffed some coffee
And started writing
Its own story.
inas essa
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/its-own-story/
