My pencil is a pointy thing
It writes of birds that fly and sing
It writes of kings and queens and snow
And lots of things I do not know
It gets so small from all I write
It almost disappears at night
Its yellow coat gets chewed and scarred
My homework makes its whole life hard
My eraser rubs things out too fast
Like all my mistakes cannot last
I like my pencil best of all
Though it is thin and not too tall
A sword might look a little grand
But pencils fit inside your hand
And though they do not shine or glow
They make up worlds, and that is so