I love to draw, so every time I go away from home, my father buys me some pencils. The pencil I just bought this time is beautiful.
This pencil is just as ordinary as any other pencil. Its length is about a glove. The pen body is round, about the size of her little finger, about an adult's arm length. The body of the pen is made of wood, painted with alternating red and green stripes, the paint is very glossy. On top of the paint there was an inscription in shiny golden emulsion: "Hanson". The new pen, both ends flat, looks very sharp. Looking at any end, you can see in the middle of the wood is a black lead. I use the pencil sharpener to cut the wood. The blade turns slightly, I hear the soft "rust ... rust ..." sound. Each wood crust flows out according to the blade sharpened and twisted round, smooth silk. I sharpen it until it shows that the nib is long enough to use, because the nib is too long to break easily. I try the first pen strokes. The drawing pen is very happy. The lead is not too soft but not too hard, the lead is black, very sharp.
I secretly thank dad. With that pencil, I drew very nicely the pictures of the problem, my favorite pictures. I keep and cherish the pen a precious thing
I love to draw, so every time I go away from home, my father buys me some pencils. The pencil I just bought this time is beautiful.
I secretly thank dad. With that pencil, I drew very nicely the pictures of the problem, my favorite pictures. I keep and cherish the pen a precious thing
