Metalmaid

For my mother.

I am your
Half-owned
Medallion of
Triumph and
Glory, and
You are
My goldsmith.
In hindsight,
You praise the
Great Metallurgist
That I
Carry a sheen of
Worth and
Beauty, for at
Birth, I was but a
Natural stone,
Rough and
Dripping from
My earthen
Womb. This
Will take
Time
You thought,
And it did.
At times, you had to share
Your chisel with
The silversmith,
And though you may have
Carved
Your creed
Too deeply
Into my facade
And you may have
Struggled to
Share your
Workbench,
I would
Never ask to be
Changed. I treasure
My form,
My inscription,
Everything you've
Sculpted me to be.
Wear me
Proudly about your
Neck, laced through
A strand of
Ruby beads.
Drape me over
Your breast,
As your beacon
Through strife.
Oh, metalmaid, be
My treasure, as
I know
I am yours.