I am a tool of toddler artists

I know their small yet firm grip,

As they glide me over the paper,

I learn a new trick.

I have lounged in deep indigo,

Twinkling over a fire,

Where my flames are aglow

With my own attire.

I have loomed glowing and round

In light blue, watching my own petals

Growing real proud, while I buzz happily—

A zigzagging trail of dotted me.

Today I quack, with the help of orange and black

In a sea of scribbles, and a block of white.