Adamant

Precious is this adamant,
This half-aged piece of glass,
The wonder of the world,
Trapped full of tales.

Precious is this adamant,
Or so says my dead grandma,
Standing above me at the moment
Fixed with my blank stare.

Precious is this adamant,
For whom it may concern,
Light blinded angles,
Dark as the red fern.

Precious is this adamant,
So says my dead heart,
Life lived halfway through,
Is only the very start.