The stone you overturn from dirt polished enough soon turns gold. Or so you believe. Hope swarms the mind, elation at the thought of success. It dare not fold, because surely the stone turned can become gold? An everlasting smile you cannot withhold as you move with a swagger and glint in your eye. You’re gassed, things are going well and as time passes a golden hue begins to emerge from the corners of that stone. It’s purring, threatening to bloom and its warmth.. you’re sold.
Too soon?
Well. a nasty turn and it grows cold. Fractured, hope folds as you fly down that trough. You scoff, dreams can be as euphoric as they are dangerous. A stone from dirt can never be gold.
