~ 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