AN EMBARRASSMENT OF RICHES


Diane, the moon goddess, listens
as a lid is lifted on the agony of precious stones:

Diamonds, what crushing weight they've been under,
'We're forever all right;
coterminous with the dinosaurs.

An Emerald speaks of her brooch companions,
'Fakes, fakes, fakes!'

A Sapphire refuses (she's a refusenik)
to sparkle any more.
The touchy Topaz says, 'Quite right!'
and the Rubies feel exactly the same;
each one is a reluctant gem.

'Precious stones, indeed.' said Diane,
'truly the rich don't know they are rich
until they see poverty staring them in the face.

And the moonstones all agreed.


She made them see (the bejeweled) a pebble beach.
All the pebbles were modest, undiscovered gems,
but there was one particularly so.
There was no miser gloating over her,
running bony fingers along her sides,
but the waves! 'How they loved to roll over her.'

'Storytelling, storytelling!' a cultured Pearl,
up from the depths of the sea,
interrupted the moon-goddess in mid-flow.
Sadly, he is now a lump of coal,
and as for the modest little pebble,
have you ever heard of

The Koh-i-noor diamond?