He stood to wake in the beginning,
Shards of perfect at his feet.
The broken, brilliant pieces beckoned
"Mold us 'till we are complete."
And so he made a stunning window,
Many came to see the light,
Through colors joyful on the spectrum,
Until the darkness brought the night.
In his bed he tossed with angels,
He awoke to quench his thirst,
Through the silence to his psyche:
"It's the fragile things break first."
As his angels left the chamber,
Through the flapping of their wings,
Came the voice of trust and reason,
"Do not step on broken things."
It was the ground that shook the town,
Dazed, they gathered in the square,
And from a distance, "Oh, the window."
They were shocked to see it there.
Lying fractured in the sand,
Reflecting cutlets of the sun,
They resolved to take the pieces,
For their vision was undone.
And yet a howl through sand unfused,
A once-trodden, empty track,
Through no power of his own,
The magic prism was put back.
With an ancient echo mighty,
Neversaid by human kings,
Came the unbidden againsaid,
"Do not step on broken things."
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