There are days when I feel like Broken Glass,
Where I glisten and gleam in the soft, green Grass.
And Anyone who dares to tread,
On my resting Place is sure to dread,
The Pain of a wound that is Hot like Ice,
And the Soul who receives it will not tread twice.

How ugly a shattered Dish can be.
A useless, biting Thing like Me,
Who injures those who come too Near.
Those Souls who are Drawn by my gleaming veneer.

I must Wait for someone to hold me just right,
Who can see how I shimmer in Bright, morning light.
Who sees me not as a Thing of no value,
And will Strive to turn me into something New.

Yes, I am Broken beyond repair,
And those who come close should Surely beware.
But Mosaics too are works of Art.
Of something Beautiful, will I be a part.