Where the Ruby Waits

They passed it by, again and again,
The rock half-sunken in mountain rain—
Just another stone, they said, too rough,
No sparkle, no gleam—not worthy enough.

But one old hand, calloused with time,
Lifted it up from the layers of grime.
He turned it slowly, brushed off the sand,
And there it shone, bold in his hand.

We are like that—weathered and worn,
Cracked by the years, dulled and torn.
But within us glows a radiant hue—
A value no eye can see but true.

So love me, not for the polish or praise,
But for the depth the surface betrays.
Like a ruby hidden in layers of stone,
Our worth is eternal—though often unknown.

© Susie Stiles-Wolf