I am iron, not gold,
and I shine, well-worn.
I have little value
in the greased hands
of a merchant,
but I am priceless
in the greasy hands
of a workman.
A glimmer,
I was not given,
but polished iron glows,
warmed by the touch,
each and all, of those
who have come
and gone, cloven.
© CG Tenpenny, 2022.
