I laid my eye upon a dim
Who to my hand had taken its time
Through work and toil
My fingers spoiled
Now had one to label mine

What do I win with such a precious thing?
A bag of rice to fill my cheeks?
An apple a day, so the doctors at bay?
A clove at night for tooth decay?

Or is it to keep, so shiny and round
Close to my heart this dim that I found
For proof of life
And work and strive
To take with me when I enter the ground?