By Stevieslaw
When I was 10
my dad gave me
a number 2 pencil—
brand new,
with a finely
chiseled point.
“Promise,”
he said
is like this
pencil.
“The eraser
is always
the first
to go—
worn out
or broken off.
After that,
you can only
chew
on your mistakes.
And that dime store
sharpener is,
like father time,
a false friend.”
But I was 10.
what would
you have me know
of nubs
and time’s unappeasable
appetite?
I took the pencil—
another gift.
At ten,
the whole
world
is a gift.
––––––––––
“I write because I love to tell stories and sometimes I’m astonished at what I’ve written.” – the writer
thedrabble.wordpress.com 
very nice…10 was a gift in the 50’s, I would not like to be a kid in this day and age.
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