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A Name

Sydney is my name,
But who am I?
They might have called me Lily,
Or maybe even Becky.
But instead they called me Sydney.

Art is what I do,
But who am I?
I wished to be a bird
A hawk to be precise,
So as to fly fierce and swift.
But in place of wings I have my artist’s hands.

Sydney, Squid, Syd,
These are my names.
Drawing, writing, painting,
These are the things I do.

Once more I ask, who am I?
I do not have wings.
I am not called lily.

I am Sydney.
I am an artist.
Undiluted by childhood wishes,
This is who I am,
This is who I shall stay.





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