I love the smell of crayons
Their wooden, waxy aroma
When I settle at my desk
I love the sight of crayons
All of their different shades
Like a rainbow you can hold In the palm of your hand
New crayons, old crayons
Sharp ones and dull ones
Lone crayons and the ones
Still snug in their boxes
Broken ones and used ones
Short, stout and splintery
The shavings bringing back to memory
The long summer nights
Scribbling in the attic
I love the feel of crayons
How they line up
Like toy soldiers
Fighting the dullness
Of the blank paper
And how they harmonize
Like a fine tuned instrument
At the will of their Maestro