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.