The Pen--Missing in Action

I lost my pen, and don’t know where
I lost my pen; I’d looked everywhere—
The cabinets up high, the drawers down low,
The floor, the couch, the table, the chair—
I looked outside, on the patio bright,
Up by the tree, in the grass, to the right
Of the porch, by the bird bath, grey.
Oh, where could it be, that great pen
Of black and yellow?
Maybe Ben took it, that silly old fellow,
When he came to deliver my mail.
“Oh where could it be?”
I stopped and I thought.
I reached my hand back, and ran a
Hand through my hair.
“Aha!” My fingers brushed something
Thin and hard.
Here it was, here was my pen—
Not on the desk, and not on the chair,
Not in the kitchen and not in the yard—
Here it had been, in my hair all along.
Now I can write that letter to Mom.