Saw a kid with a broken stick

Saw a kid with a broken stick

of blue, just trying to draw a sky.

The wax snapped off, a little trick

of gravity, and he started to cry.

All that effort, all that will,

just crumbled into dust so fine.

I learned too late, standing still,

that some tools just refuse to shine.

You can’t paint a world that’s gone,

with fragments of what couldn’t be.

That sharp piece left, upon the lawn,

a lesson for you, and for me.