In Which I Sneak A Sonnet From Seat Fourteen

A brand new pencil's just a silly thing,

But it can bring such happiness! Fresh, sharp

And smelling so of wood. I gladly cling

To simple pleasures such as these, apart

From my familiar hominess. My hand

Curls round it, a new friend, so like the old

And well-used ones I left behind -- that grand

And horrid rush to be on time. Behold:

'Tis here and waiting for me, wearing down

In service of these lines. I'm ne'er alone

Though far from those I love (for here they frown

On use of tech that links us), if I own

Or have a pencil handy, I can call

Upon the thought of you, my one, my all.