A Broken Crayon. . .
A Broken Crayon. . .1 min 177 1 min 177
Born was she rosy-brown;
A father’s little princess with a crown.
Fed was she with maternal white;
A mother’s royal art of twilight.
Flourished she, a ruby gem;
A brother’s motherly chum.
Loved she, the nature’s green;
Fell she for the night’s queen.
Painted was her soul with pure white;
Designed was she to spread light.
Dark ’twas at first, when she bled red;
Spark did it in her guts; far away fears fled.
Take did she a valiant vow,
To let not a thing to block her way.
But little did she aware of irony of voguish love;
That did keep her mindfulness away.
Sink did she! Deep into the ocean of thrilled thoughts;
Dance! Did she down the rainbows, not aware of kindless knots.
Lose did she herself, to her love in the pink;
Poor she! Never did think but did in a blink
Tears did flood like a shattered bottle of ink.
Raced her heart! Was not there a clue;
Wasted! Did she feel and finally did fade into blue.
Was born she the beauty to paint the skies;
Lost and laid In love’s grey old lies.
Hopeless did she become and forever gone;
Colourless did she become – a broken crayon!