Friday, May 1, 2009

Squiggles

My pencil spoke to me,
as I was curving up a "D".
It shouted "what hurts the worst?"
and tapped its head,
to indicate he was upset.

"I'm tired!" he screeched
"of being used to teach,
or write upon my bed."
And I answered politely,
"How hurt is your head?"

"I hate it!" he continued.
"I dislike being pushed to
form squiggles and scribbles
that seem as meaningless as
a bowl of tangled spaghetti!"

I calmly stood and walked
over to the pencil sharpener.
--Maysen Smith

2 comments:

Chad said...

I just barely saw this poem. I like it! Good job Maysen. Keep them coming.

Mrs. Catlin said...

I love your poem Maysen!