Wooden shaft colored canary,
lead stuffed in a canary mortuary,
mining before the invention of Blackberry.
Unlatch your pencil box, sketch outside the box,
write with wood as you escape the woods and dodge the red fox.
Paper takes a jot, encouraging a mental trot.
A story plot is sought, in a book store, books are bought.
In your head thoughts are so simple,
typing is simple on a Kindle, but first use a pencil.
In your mind, a story line floats by, like a glass bottle passing an oceanic line.
A try you must, embrace a pencil’s rustic trust,
and write to the bottle of wine before it becomes a bust…