They say the most beautiful gems are the hardest to grow:
They are rare, precious, and unique
Their journeys are long, hard, painful and slow
But their beauty is of greatest value

They begin as any other rock, average and ugly:
Rough, pointed, and unrefined
Then circumstances pressure them, hold them snugly
'til in the heated heart of earth they are purified

Once formed, they must surface, they must be found:
Rooted, probed, and undermined
Rugged rocks from the cold underground
Are saved from the dark to be seen in the light

The sparkle is there, but still under the surface:
Remote, perdu, and unknown
Cut and ground to reach their true purpose
The glittering gems are at last revealed

When I look at this process, I see my own story
Fallen, broken, and remade
First dying inside, then raised up to glory...
You see my little gem beginning to show