Raul sat quietly at his table,

A world of colors within his reach,

Crayons in hand, his fingers able

To paint the dreams no words could teach.

He drew the sun with fiery gold,

The trees in shades of emerald green,

A sky of blue, so vast, so bold,

Where only he could ever lean.

Each crayon spoke a different tale,

Of lands he’d never seen before,

Of castles in the wind-swept vale,

And oceans stretching to the shore.

Raul’s world was small but wide,

Where colors lived and hearts could roam,

With every stroke, he’d run and hide,

Creating places he could call home.

He filled the page with his delight,

A rainbow built from quiet grace,

And in the silence of the night,

His crayons led him to a place—

Where stories bloomed from wax and ink,

And every color knew his name,

Where all his fears began to shrink,

And every dream was free of shame.

Raul and his crayons—silent, strong,

In a world where right could turn to wrong,

But with each shade, a hope would grow,

A child’s heart was free to glow.