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
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