I found a pencil on the ground
Twas just a small stub that I found
I started just to pass it by
but picked it up, not knowing why

Of all the pencils on this earth
I'd never seen one of less worth
I thought, I'll throw this thing away
but that small nub just seemed to say

"You must not cast me to the side
Until my fine lead, you have tried"
But I was walking in a park
Knowing ere long it would be dark

I knew not what I ought to do
Then I began to think of you
I came upon a little bench
And sat down there to try to think

While I was thinking what I'd say
A piece of paper blew my way
As I sat there upon my seat
It landed right there at my feet

Then for a while, I just sat there
A strong breeze blowing in my hair
Then something stange that startled me
With no one there that I could see

I heard these words quite loud and clear
"Why do you think I landed here
And why, on such a windy day
Did I not just blow on away"

I took the paper and began
With that small pencil in my hand
The words I wrote just seemed to flow
For it was dark by now, you know

Then I wrote words I'd never dared
To tell you just how much I care
And how I almost worship you
Tho I'm not sure you want me to

I told you just how lovely you are
How you're my one bright shining star
How I would give my life for you
Tho you would never ask me to

And I was going to write much more
I never wrote so good before
As I sat there beneath the trees
The words much lovelier than these

But all good things must have and end
If you believe will just depend
What happened next is stranger still
A wind came blowing down the hill

To my great shock and deep dismay
I watched that paper blow away
So I arose to go my way
For there was no reason to stay

Took a few steps and then I stopped
For something that I had forgot
Went to the bench, looked all around
That pencil just would not be found

I hurried home, turned on the light
And searched my mind far in the night
To find the words that I had said
But couldn't find them in my head

I think about pencil still
And I suppose I always will
The thing that really bugs me so
The one thing I may never know
Those sweet words flowing beautif'ly
Was it writing or was it me
:: Hal Gantt

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