for Shiny
Love is a forgetful thing,
As it wanders down the road,
That finds a threadbare pocket
Once arriving at the store.
Retraces steps with keener eyes,
Grieves in guilt for greed.
Fumbles in vain for payment
To pacify mere need.
Hope is an awakening thing
That surprises me one day--
Notices the tiny glint of me
Buried in hardened clay.
Bends down to brush my surface,
Hides me in a gentle palm.
Ponders not the art of spending,
But regards me as a lucky charm.
.
