I am a China vase, so divine, Shattered to millions of pieces. And the question remains, Will I ever be reassembled? If so, will I ever be, Worth anything at all? Cracks trace a map of what you’ve held, Memories of vibrant flowers, Now ghosts of color linger, whispers, Of a life before the fall. But within the broken pieces, A resilience stirs, a hidden shine, Perhaps I’ll never be hole again, But I will be, One beautiful mosaic.