Precious Gold Poem by Mark. A Heathcote

What is gold but the fruit of suns long gone?
They're the nuggets of stars that have shone.
Passed into Aeon's their own, nightfall.
Have smelted away into this little haul.
Beautiful, how frightfully precious, how small
These bands of love are bound together with all.
Placed on a book, worn with oaths bygone.
Here now, never to fade but to shine hereon.
Forever and forever, until death do we part.
Or spiral down into that black hole, quick smart.