A Pencil
I am just
A little pencil
Made from
Wood and lead
My head is
Long and pointed
My body
Smooth and red
I write happily
Only when I’m led
I was once
Tall and handsome
But now
The days I dread!
You see
My little master
He treats me
Very badly
And often
Shaves my head
And when
He is thinking
He puts my tail end
In his mouth
Chewing till he thinks
Things through
Now I am
But half myself
An old stump, discarded
Bald and chewed!
Why the other day
He picked me up
Happy was I
To move ahead
But as he neither could
Shave or chew
He just threw me down
Thinking I was dead!
Copyright © Carol Mitra | Year Posted 2022
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