Filled with ink so bright
With which I write soothing brave songs,
Righting all the way all my wrongs.
This stylo is only mine,
It belongs to me
And with it I shine,
Sometimes with apple tart,
Sometimes with wine,
I pour all my joys and sorrows,
My gratitudes and rhymes.
It is the most sturdy pen today,
A special pen for a special girl, that's me;
It is possessed by nary a soul but me
And has written stories for all to see.
This pen I hold to my chest most dearly,
Forever filled bright ink tenderly.
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