2B or not 2B They tried to convince me that I was a pencil. But I'm not so easily lead. I am easily broken often mistreated chewed up spat out. Damaged I give scratchy results or nothing at all. But in the hands of an artist, sharpened, restored, I can form words that pierce the soul draw pictures of hope express all feelings portray a world of suffering the desolation of winter and in a tiny corner the hope of spring.
