Shiny and proud, the color of red
The most beautiful crayon in the box, some said
Used to color rainbows, roses and lips
Used so often she rounded her tip.
Then one day, she broke from one into two
Oh, how she lamented the day she was new
So off into the pile of broken crayons
Seldom to feel the warmth of a child’s hand.
Given away to those without much
Soon feeling the familiar warmth of a child’s touch
She was treasured again, like when she was new
As one half can do the same work as two.
***Written for those who perhaps feel like a broken crayon***