Jewels are made beneath the earth in dirt,
and if we leave them there, we suffer loss;
those who would find the prize amidst the dross
will find they neither hate, nor give you hurt.
Exotically beautiful of form,
their hardships, like the pressures of the clay,
just make them ever lovelier each day,
and in the midst of cold, we find them warm.
For anyone can live a life at ease,
and play a pleasant hand when all are kind,
yet in the heart of trouble you can find
forgotten treasures, shining on their knees;
though through disaster, long were needs ignored,
when help was far, and little their reward.