Friend of Gold
Once I had a friend of gold,
She shimmered in the sun.
And though she never could grow old,
She could neither jump nor run.
“I envy you.” she said one day,
In her eye, a glimmering tear,
“For no matter how I wish I may,
I am destined to stay here.”
“Envy me!” I said confused,
“You’re as beautiful as the sun.”
And she replied somewhat subdued,
“But I cannot play or run.”
As she explained I understood, what being golden means.
Beauty is a curious thing, that isn’t what it seems.