~ by Avellina Balestri
Gold
As the sun’s light, streaming through the Shire woods,
Seeping into farmers’ soil, rich and ready
For the bringing forth of…
Gold
As the corn’s lips, kissing the crisp harvest morn,
Bursting from the ripe cobs, sweet and silky
For the spreading on of…
Gold
As the butter, churning at the milkmaid’s stoop
Thickening in the barrel, smooth and creamy,
For the buttering of…
Gold
As the bread’s crust, baking on the open hearth,
Swirling scent of wholesome warmth,
To the credit of…
Gold
As the Shire girl’s hair, flowing down her neck,
Glowing in the noonday rays, soft and curly,
More precious than the wearing of…
Gold
Gold…Gleaming…
Gold…Calling…
Round it goes, calling me…
Singing, ringing…
Precious Gold
Bilbo loves you…
No, Bilbo…Bilbo does not…
Bilbo loves much deeper gold
Than this dead thing
But are you dead?
Yes, you must be dead…
Only dead things invade dreams
Like ghosts
We used to tell stories about
Around the bonfires
Of blazing gold
After mowing down the hay
Of autumn gold
Like the leaves we watched
Drifting down
Red, Orange…Gold…
And the honey…
Sweet and sticky, on our breakfast buns
I remember that, and lemonade
Freshly squeezed
We drank beneath the evenstar
After work was done
And blessed the light she shared
All Golden memories
I can live by them
When the ring of Gold
Burns my finger
And scorches my soul
Let the dwarves scrounge for metal…
It is not alive, like my gold is