When I was young, And old said to me. Put down that pen! Unless the devil's your friend. You left-handed atrocity!
And as I grew, I soon knew Some people had easier writing, For their words were neat, All curvy and sweet, Meanwhile my hand was smudged, My words were fudged Up (and usually diagonally), With all the trying.
Still I could not write, Not well with my right. So with my left I am left, And to me, the left I am left with, Is the left I am best with.
You have a left you are best with too, Maybe it's not your left hand, Maybe it's your right shoe, Maybe it's that one thing you do, Whatever it is, keep it up, If it's special to you, It's special enough.