A Broken Pencil. Poem by Lee Sharon

A broken pencil is not much of use, only to be expected thrown into a bin.
It's value is no more there, just to see the image of it being tore apart like a piece of paper.
How poor it looks! No matter how much beauty it possesses. With it's beautiful craved wood and brightly painted colours, high qualities cannot even compare to the simplest of it's kind when broken apart.
It's wood breaks into two, leaving only what brings the most attention to it: Sharp edges of wood broken apart in halves.
Even if the use are still in place, a need just to tape it.
It appears image are more important than use.
As long as money is still flying in the air.
'What is there to worry? A pencil can be bought by even the cheapest price there is.'
That is how people would think of it.
But when thrown about some place else.
A girl with torn clothes, a dirty face, hairs of lices and with a stinking smell comes along and, picks the broken pencil up.
Her face lits with cheer.
A smile came across her face.
A treasure she has found and went running back home to share her joy with her mother.
The only time when it is valued, appreciated and everything that it had always been, is the time by the the less fortunated and the ones that cannot even afford the cheapest pencil or, even wish they could even use a pencil.