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You have come to me in my hour of despiration. I am short one-fourty something. With a gaze upon you Your utterly simple fragile form, Your droll uneventful packaging, I am struck with pity. Crerated so cheaply in orange plastic, Fabricated product of a failing manufacturer A modest satisfaction guarantee, Though I know you would break easily. Two different sized pencil holes and a shaving holder Are the only specialties you have. I can see you discarded by a child in the school trash. Now you are in my hands... I want you to know, That I have a soft spot for the forgotten ones. I will use you as long as your megar form can la