The Medallion

The medallion on the ground lay
As quiet as it can be
A medallion that went astray
And traveled thru the sea
But on the ground with dust it lay
Till the little one did see
Who picked it up with glee
And saw it but as a beauty

The medallion was thrown here
The medallion was thrown there
But notice none paid to it
Until it was chipped a bit
when one saw it and exclaimed
Shine it doesn’t, but may be famed!

So to the goldsmith then he went
And asked, “What Value has it  ?”
And with the medallion he bent,
And said, “Why, it’s of gold, every bit!”
Then happy as a bird he went
And wrapped with silk, he kept it.

As a stone it lay when known not
But now lives it like a king!
What did the man then knew not,
That with the sheen of gold he saw?
Was not it always the same
Or did it change without the fame?

The Lord had not made it gold
Like simple stones he made all
It was man to the world who told,
Others before gold were always small
That tarnished never, even when old!
But, all men, rich or poor, faint or bold
Always tarnished when the time was all.
So different, aren’t we, from stones and gold?

Image via Wikipedia