When you're young,
You have a box of crayons
And you could see the magic from within.
But as you grow,
And society takes them away,
Replacing them with pencils and pens,
You forget your crayons.
And when you're older,
Cleaning out your closet as pack to leave
The only home you've ever known,
You'll find you're old box of crayons,
Laying stashed away in the farthest corner.
You'll miss the magic,
The feeling of it flowing through your hands
As you scribbled on the wall.
You'll find a piece of paper,
And draw a simple picture.
But it'll lack the magic.
Because as you grew, you forgot how it worked.
How to use the magic.
You'll put them on your empty dresser with a sigh,
But before you leave, you'll look back
And take them with you
To remind you there is magic.
