The Ballad of a Pencil With No Eraser

The saddest tale that’s e’er been told Is that of pencil Sharp He wrote so dark, so brave and bold The critics on did harp Disaster struck one fateful day As Sharp wrote down a line His pink eraser wore away So marring Sharp’s design Now Sharp decays in health and mind His purpose now so dull And as Sharp fails, he falls behind And publishers are full No time have they for useless Sharp A point without an end So on and on the critics carp About his latest penned To greatness go the other pens And those whose use goes on To write of mountains and of glens For Sharp all hope is gone