Supposing that you had to find
One tear-drop in a golden mine,
Would you sit and blankly stare
About my cave, lit by a flare,
For a rush of inspiration frankly got,
to show you the way like white-blood cells clot,
for a glint of something not metal or cold?
Could you presume to be so bold?
Or would you rather first commit
To examine each glossy gold stone pit
Over, under, below and around?
For only carefully can treasure be found,
And mine, although not simply revealed,
Is purer every second that it is concealed.