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A Sketch
It lays flat on a piece of off white paper,

It has no heart, no lungs, no blood pumping through,
It can’t blink an eye, can’t shed a tear.

It has neither hands nor feet,
No fingers, no toes,
No signature with X’s and O’s.

Imagine a shift.
A shift in the wind,
The weather,
The light.

A heart starts to beat,
A rhythm soon follows.
Its veins are pumping,
It’s coming to life.

It has full oxygen,
Its hands and feet,
Its fingers and toes,
Its signature with X’s and O’s,
It’s coming to life.

It has emotions,
Likes and dislikes,
Taste, touch, and sight,
It’s coming to life.

With the shift of the weather,
The force of the wind,
An edge peels itself away
From its inert background,
It’s coming to life.

And suddenly the once lifeless thing
Is now something real,
Something tangible.
It can talk,
It can play,
It can walk,
Look at it,
So full of life.

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