We dig the ground to find diamonds and gold
but not for what they look like or they feel;
we judge the orange by more than its peel
and every story by the ones you've told.
Our love is not for stones or metals cold,
but things made new. Not iron ore but steel,
not fruit on tree, but as part of a meal;
to make the world is where we have been bold.
Not nature do we praise, but only art
that takes the raw and turns it ever true.
Then we won't whisper, we shall simply shout:
Release the power that hides within the heart,
give the old masters their fine, proper due,
and take good note before numbers run out.