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Wooden Words

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Pencil, that’s my species.
I’m long, narrow, and wooden.
I’m usually a golden-yellow with a hint of orange.
I have a pink hat that sits right at the very top. (Easer)
I’m used for all kinds of things.
You can find me lying around anywhere…in the back of a locker, on the floor, in a can, but my favorite place to be is in the hand of a smooth writer. I love the feeling of someone using me…the lead brushing back
and forth on the paper as they finish off a paragraph.
I’m not the best creation in the world, but that’s ok.
I don’t have to be, being a pencil is fine with me.
I wish that people wouldn’t take advantage of me.
I like being used with care. I am not what I look like; actually I was what you called “bigger than life.” I use to be gigantic. I was the one who looked down on you. I was thick and brown, with roots stretching as far as the eye can see. I had burnt orange, red apple, and dirt brown leaves swaying with the wind. I was a squirrel’s harvesting place, and baby bird’s first home, I was one of Mother Nature’s best creations. I was beautiful. All that glory was taken away from me when I was sliced like a cake. I shrunk very very quickly. So now here I am tied to a string, waiting for someone to sign up for study help. Maybe tomorrow I will be in someone’s pocket. Maybe I will be chewed up by a nervous test taker. And maybe…just maybe I will be sharpened.





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