She is not broken,
Not yet...
Just a bit bent,
Simply rough around her pretty edges.
She is not worn,
Just dusty,
your hand over her surface,
And see how she shines...
Doesn't she still shine?
She has been dropped,
More than a few times and perhaps-
misplaced, where she should not have been,
But she is not broken.
She is no spare part.
So I beg you do not count her out.
Take her up and polish her,
By the light of the sun in the day,
And the shadow of the moon at night.
Be ever patient, and I promise you...
She will serve you well.
Why? You ask...
Ah, because, can't you see?
She is not broken.
Not yet.
End
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