An Ordinary Object

On my kitchen counter sits A catch-all made of tin, A place for scissors, pencils and Whatever else fits in. My room was being painted in The color of my choice; And finally, for furnishings, My mom gave me a voice. I chose the bedspreads and the lamp And knickknacks picturesque; The jaunty yellow pencil cup Sat proudly on my desk. That object's followed me for years Wherever I’ve called home And now I’m giving it its due, Within this simple poem.