Oh to be wise as Croesus
Rich as the sun,
To have each raw-hacked word
Turn into spangled gold;

Or even worthless lies,
The chaff that flies off
To the winds,
Be silver pieces in our palms;

Then every word our tongues
Trip off, take form
As pearls, or onyx;
Opal, moonstone, jet.

Such rich lodes, all rough-hewn
From rock, our touchstones,
May reveal a Judas,
Kiss-deep, in our heart.