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.
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