Tuesday, July 13, 2010

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.

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