O how my pencil fills me with delight
For as I do write with its leaded tip
I induce feelings of love, joy, or fright
On a summer’s voyage, I can take trip.
O how it stirs such stirrings of my mind.
I cannot help but wonder that a thing
Of such small, yellow consequence can bind,
Can capture, can entrap, in truth can bring
Such beautiful imaginings to life
That peace may come, indeed, replacing strife.