My Pencil Point

My pencil point was out of joint
And didn’t feel like writing
Although the page was clean and fresh
With lines that looked inviting.

Its sullen mood had me imbued
With thoughts I tried to deaden,
For many wouldn’t place their trust
In one so plainly leaden.

Yet oftentimes we conjure rhymes
Quite quickly and with pleasure.
Perhaps the credit should be shared
By us in equal measure.