She found she couldn't stop.
Then one day her hand turned blue,
Her wrist began to flop.
All morning, noon, and night.
Her hand would not stop scrawling,
She didn't feel quite right.
She tried a brand new ointment,
To sooth her stiff, sore bits.
It was a disappointment,
When it didn't fix her mitts.
Then one night she gave a yell,
As cracks spread on her skin.
From her hands her fingers fell,
They landed in the bin.
I hope you learn a lesson,
From Susie's awful tale.
Drawing is not good for you,
And fingers can be frail.
Poem © 2015 Katherine Lynas