Start low in the core, of this earth's fragile form, <br />And implant a mutation, to differ the norm. <br />Alternation of seed, to create something new, <br />Fabrication of breed, the mundane we eschew, <br /> <br />And thus, came our product, a shimmering gold, <br />An entrapment of beauty, both modern and old, <br />Both sinister and holy, it had its own glow, <br />Its aura of perfection, of which we don't know. <br /> <br />And though it bore no fruit, <br />No blood orbs or sea berries, <br />No sun crescents to be ravished and consumed by spree fairies, <br />Its only contribution is dispute. <br /> <br />Gorgeous and peaceful, a small white dove, <br />Fluttering faintly through the skies, just slightly above <br />Where the true treasure lies, but there's a crow resting there, <br />Perched upon it so horridly that it seemed unfair. <br /> <br />Assisted by vanity, the dove blindly attacked, <br />Drove the crow out of the tree, then, lashed at his back, <br />Though docile by nature, it attacked out of need, <br />For mankind's nomenclature, is undoubtedly greed.<br /><br />Derrick Andrews<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/golden-tree-2/
