She wished to write her story,
To tell the tale of how she lived.
Some paper, lines and lines,
Rested with the pencils on the desk.
And so she came to begin the journey,
And as she poured the words onto the page,
The Miser began to favor one of the pencils.
She had hoarded the memories for so long;
But this one piece of blue wood and graphite
Helped her to spill the letters into words.
She had not realized how much she loved this pencil,
Until she could no longer find it.
The Miser searched, travelling far off
To find the pencil she needed most.
She had nearly given up, too, when
One day she noticed a class full of students.
She walked inside, feeling drawn to the room,
And there, held captive in the hands of someone else,
Was that blue pencil she thought she could keep to herself.
Somehow, no one noticed the Miser, standing in the doorway,
So she left, afraid of disturbing the perfect peace of the class.
As she walked away, she realized what she had lost,
That it could never be regained, that she'd have to start over...
And a little part of her died inside.
