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Here is my Poem: When I look at a pencil, I see . . . I see a short, stubby point, Ready to be sharpened. I see a clean eraser, Ready to be used I see the line the pencil made, Ready to be added to a bigger drawing I pick it up, And sharpen it. The shavings coming out as a fan, Just the same as a Pencil with color, But opposites. I take the line, And make a picture with it, erasing my mistakes with that now-used eraser. Until the very end, It will be with me. Until the very end . . . [I made this poem on my @PoetNookz account]
