I picked a stone so precious-
A gold they said.
But unrefined i thought it was,
I threw it in the furnace;
To extract a medal so honoured.
But a coal it became,
Fragile, breaking at the slightest touch.
The precious stone was no more,
I picked another, a nut they said;
Not like the lost gold-
That burnt in the furnace,
Never to return.
The Lost Gold
Brian Bunguswa
(C) All Rights Reserved. Poem Submitted on 07/26/2019
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Poem topics: lost, never, return, touch, thought, precious, gold, stone, furnace, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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