Life of a Pencil


I bought it from a shop,
A little old lady gave a dime,
I was put to work without a stop,
Every day I write the day and time.
I see my friends die and snap,
I was given to another kid,
I write stories and draw maps,
I lost and got a bid.

Every day I go through a machine,
It whirs and whirs and sharpens me,
I grow old and am no longer clean,
Little lead is left and I can barely see.

They say old people shrink,
I have shrunk too much,
I am tossed and I stink,
To my life, I still clutch.

Finally, I have retired,
The kids make fun and I’m thrown,
In the trash I am tired,
I cannot speak, nothing but a groan.

Discussion Questions

Scroll for answers.















Answers