There’s never enough of me in your closet.

I am a fragile globe of rainbow light, Born from a breath, then catching flight. I wear a coat of oil and water thin, But pop at the touch of a finger or pin.

I have crowned heroes, Decorated generals, Sold illusions, And clarified lies. Some chase me their entire lives. Some earn me for a job well done. Some print me beside conditions they hope you'll ignore. Yet every morning, One of my kind rises without applause. What am I?

What once was mistaken is now forgotten and retold.To graphite, I am a loyal friend, I fix its slips and make amends.I shrink the more my help is sought, giving my form for your second thoughts. What am I?

An opening designed for entry Often made of wood or stone Although those made of pearls are destined for the pure