Ode To My Dead Pencil
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Ode To My Dead Pencil

What a pathetic pencil you are/since I've used you all this time
I can't believe you got this far/when you only cost a dime
You saw me through each test/each lecture I was forced to hear
You fill in circles the best/but your end is drawing near
I look at all your friends/they seem much taller than you
Yet will quickly meet their ends/when too short to hold on to
But I love you, my pathetic circular lead/till it takes me two fingers to write
Then you'll retire to that eternal bed/that the janitor takes each night
So for now I must let go of you/your jaundiced skin half cracked
Your color seems a scattered hue/where my teeth so well attacked
Now as we stand above your death/the wide mouth patiently waits
And as you take your final breath/my hand--it hesitates
You rest lightly in my palm/without a cry of protest
Your sharpened face seems much too calm/perhaps you desire the rest
I let you drop into your grave/with a hollow, fearful sound
But the eraser you stole I needed to save/his time had not come round
Alas, he too must take his final breath/his demise came a little quicker
Because if I'm seen reaching in death/I'll be labeled a garbage picker
Copyright 1997

Email: rowens@chuma.cas.usf.edu