Pencil poem
February 18, 2009
IN THE DESK DRAWER
Number two pencils,
cedar-fresh, new, neat
in sunny yellow rows:
Dixon, Eagle, Ticonderoga,
conforming comfortably
to each other in the pencil-box.
A wooden-handled steel-nibbed pen threatens;
a clean-pink eraser reassures;
a metal-edged ruler regulates.
But the pencils,
sharpened, competent, obedient,
lie alert and still–
ready to do my will.
LATER
Old pencils,
round-tipped and stubby,
paint bitten and chipped,
erasers slick, flat,
black from drudger,
clutter the drawer.
They might come in handy some day.
by-Doris B. Armstrong
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