A key on a string, The wind in the reeds, Sticks to the skin, The spitting of seeds Counted together, Sum of its parts, Subtly guiding the mind, But a yoke to the heart

I twist, I turn, I grip with might, I can twist a bolt or at hearts with plight.

Bunnies that build up when time flies. Ashes to ashes, change my first to R, I eat metal.

Pink and rubber, I rub side to side, removing marks, made of a temporary state. Sometimes alone, most often partnered with a graphite friend, sharing a yellow jacket. Once I’m done, don’t forget to clean up the mess, as someone needs to remove the marks I left.

You sit at me for hours, though nowadays you can stand, for paperwork to computers I will always be at hand.