Of Crayon Box Dreams

I find a box of crayons on a desk. At different colors I take a look. I think of each color as picaresque - as something or somebody in a book. Three blues I see, such as blue-violet. Blue-green might be a sailor’s home at sea. Blue-violet could be a girl he’d met. Purple is sky darkened, making him flee. Although their passion had been orange-red - black became his heart. He left love behind. The girl’s heart, carnation pink, feels brown dead. The cheer of yellow I now need to find. I’ll draw a sun, and yellow I will use. These dreamy crayons have too many blues.