The Trinket Poem by Ewan Paterson

A cryptic antiquity snatched from importance
by the mercenary hands of ignorance,
you have been stolen from history.
Hid in vaulted jealousy
as a mere perfected jewel
your peppered brilliance
dowsed in crude prestige,
whispers deep from cruel abandon
the secrets locked within.

Torn from your regal tomb,
tarnished with the fashion art
your mastered craft lies stained
in the clutches of a fool's
material worth.
You rule the vastness of all ages
to which your jailer is but serf.

A timeless clue held as simple treasure
displayed as plain clasp of beauty's cloak.
You glow the very light's last embers
to be set at destiny's throat.