I walked through a Spanish city
Or through Spain, certainly
At the end of a walk of pity
A church rose up before me
I went within to see

Inside the walls were printed
Gold was in the air
No idol left so tainted
By blandness in its golden hair
I left as soon as I would dare

Beside the church I spotted
A shop that wanted gold to pawn
My trepidation jotted
Words from which this poem’s born
I saw a doom of gold forlorn

Should men who see the value
Of all the things they shouldn’t touch
Take their fill, then **** you!
We’d lose a past worth twice as much
History, the present’s crutch

Leave the gold of past alone
For it is the moulded lives
Of so many who gave flesh and bone
To ensure our world still thrives
Gold is God that fate derives

It’s not the rarest thing
It’s not magic, it’s not free
But gold was loved by men who bring
The past to you and me
Lessons, love and history

So do not melt it into bars
Don’t hide it in the dark
For nothing holds forgotten scars
Like the art that makes its mark
On time’s metal shining ark.