Once found a boy
a prism in glass
What thing thought
boy a beautiful alas!
Seven in a thousand colors
moment he every saw.
Said in verse a story
and glitter it never a flaw
Hid it where none
would find it never.
Cried he when saw
empty box and came a fever.
With heated head longed
and longed the boy for his gem.
Grabbed one seen common
and marks on it strange mayhem.
Nay mine not this belongth,
Mine had not a pore or a scratch.
"Thine doth, not mine belongth"
Mom said " what a boy not find a toy to match".
Cried and cried till his mom
Left on her chore
Dried on cheeks salt lines
and held to heart the prism once more
Clutched so tight it sweat,
and tore the tender skin bloody.
Boy another came with box draped
in silver and turned our boy a moody.
Fought they so violently,
cared the boy for the crystal.
Afraid it broken into
pieces without doubt at a fall
Gave the boy away the
beautiful crystal thing.
Clad in silver and purple
carried it the other like a wedding ring.
Cried and cried and cried
the boy at a loss so great
Opened his scarred palm
and told his mom his fate.
"Cry not, it oozes blood doth
from its edge on thine palm a tender
Such a dire thing, near not keep,
joy in full at a yonder."
Exist thou there, may with marks of
time, but never break.
In seven a thousand colors
make thy viewer see.
