I have a pen,
it\'s called a Bic.
It\'s doing nothing!
Makes me sick.
Mid afternoon
I sat to write.
Nothing yet,
Now midnight.
I planned to write,
a poem or sonnet.
The page is blank!
There\'s nothing on it.
It is enough
to make me cry.
Sorry pen.
You must die!
I have pencil,
full of lead.
I wrote this rhyme,
Now off to bed.