My Old Pencil

I have my pencil in my hand standing so tall and right,
It is blue, worn but continuing its fight.
Very smooth, it writes so fine,
My favorite pencil, always mine.
From writing poems and stories,
It helps me share my thoughts day and night.
The remarkable mark it leaves,
With the shades of dark and light.
Not scared when sharpened to a sharp point,
It is my power of creativity.
In writing, it never fails,
My best friend, through all my tales.
Oh, my wooden friend,
I can always be dependent on you.
You make my words and thoughts so clear,
My best pencil is always with me year by year.