I yearn to tell what\'s in my soul
but lack the words to tell it all
Ore, covered with so much ground
Digging, looses the interest of all around
Once mined it must be refined
Requiring a heat that can blind
Then shaped into a useful form
Polished and tempered, while still warm
Those pieces that are of no use
Cast into piles of refuse
I Watch them rust
Then turn to dust
Returning to the ground
Where they were found