The Pencil in My Hand

The pencil in my hand is never ending,
The lead just keeps coming.
It wrote stories, it wrote essays, it took tests.
It is always by my side.

Sitting in my pencilcase awaiting for its use.
Even though the lead may snap, that tiny button on the top is always ready to get a new piece for me.
The sturdy eraser always ready to get rid of my mistakes.

Many pencils have felt the wrath of my forgetfulness but not this one.
Its bright yellow clip and the dark body
it’s unforgettable..

In art it’s my best friend.
It makes my thoughts a reality.
Although I may mess up, that’s not it's fault.

The pencil in my hand is not never-ending,
The lead has run out.
The yellow clip is gone and the eraser has fallen out.
It’s a piece of plastic, that’s been left in a classroom bin.