Prospecting for gold
there’s a flash in my pan.
It glints, I gladden, it glitters...
portentously.
Still yet convinced
I question, are you real,
or do you merely mimic
the end at my rainbow.
Enchantingly, you retort.
Are you not a prospector?
Does not my sheen
or your erection inform you.
I am at odds.
You have the presence
of gold, yet I know of pyrite.
Just never knew,
how to distinguish between the two.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Write comment. A good start, Clark Dark. Read my poem, Love and Iust. Thanks