Would you dream of golden things
if asked to think of prosperity.
Of jewelled crowns and shining rings
all covered in shimmering rarity.
Or would you look to lush green land
and life-teeming blue sea.
Treasure shaped by Nature's hand,
and valuable shall it be.
Instead, I look to strength of will,
the marvel of the soul,
the beauty of the miner's fill
of dust and bones and coal.
For treasure is found in gold and shit,
yet also found in hardy, living, grit.
YOU ARE READING
Snow trees in summertime
PoetryA compilation of poetry that I've written from across the years. Come, steal my ears and seduce me with whisperings of things that aren't meant to be, like snow-specked trees in summer.
