Stub

I’m just a stub of what I was,
A little lump of lead because
I’ve worked my tip from dusk till dawn,
And yet my scribbles still go on.

But hold me in your fingers tight,
And I can still draw dreams at night.
I’ll write your name, I’ll sketch your dreams,
I’ll doodle hopes and half-baked schemes.

So don’t go tossing me away,
I’ve still got words I want to say.
For even stubs, when held just right,
Can make the biggest marks in sight.