Pencil Tale

We got our pencils September seventh

The very first day of first grade

That very moment we joined the big kids

My new pencil, I felt less afraid

My pencil was a Ticonderoga

Actually, Ticonderoga No. 2

No one ever saw a No. 1

They must have produced just a few

The lead in my pencil was black as coal

Its wood, more yellow than the sun

The tip had a perfect eraser

Any errors were quickly undone

Our teacher had rules about pencils

Never run with a pencil in your hand

Don’t poke or stab at your classmates

And carving on desktops is banned

The bad kids chewed on their pencils

The shaft would be covered with bites

Their pencils, they claimed, still worked perfectly fine

But that was the saddest of sights

The sharpener was mounted by the blackboard

We asked for permission to use it

Some of the boys tried to make lots of noise

Our teacher, Miss Gries, would excuse it

With my pencil I learned to write cursive

First “A’s” and then “B’s” and then “C’s” 

By Christmas I wrote my entire first name

Though sometimes I had backward “D’s” 

The U.S. had entered the World War

My father was in the Pacific

With my pencil I drew pictures of Hitler

That helped to calm feelings horrific

I also drew hearts with my pencil

Each one said “DL + MC”

“MC” stood for Mary Carter

The winner of our class spelling bee

My pencil did other amazing things

I’d add numbers and also subtract

I learned how to draw a cat and a fish

And locate my house on a map

June came and my pencil had shrunk to a stub

It was only five-eighths of an inch

Saying goodbye brought a tear to my eye

As we know, first grade is no cinch