What's cool about this stick, you ask?

This paltry piece of wood?

It's smooth and hard and slender too,

It fits right in my hand

I store it always in my desk

It holds my secret plans,

It does all this so patiently

So I'll have time to think

It's so much different from a pen

It won't even hold ink

But that's not even all it does

For when my brain is blocked

It hovers o'er a blank, white sheet

And pours out all my thoughts.