I can see the opalescent light,
its place a jeweller's eye sockets
men and women take away in their pockets.
I give in to the remains of my sight.

In the metallic sheen of a November glaze,
there have been redesigned gems
amongst the fronds and ice-coated stems.
Windows of sunlight strike when autumn ends in a haze.

The poet knows what time brings in and steals:
a luxury holiday in the most beautiful sand.
You can try and test the weight of its significance in your hand.
The summer of twenty-four carat gold still appeals.

The emerald isles are in the verdant grass,
somewhere deeper and richer than the jewels
many starstruck lovers believe are for fools.
I stare beyond the shutters of the morning glass.

The diamonds and stones will live on,
sparkling in the winter rivers and streams
fishermen see in a instance in satin beams.
The jewellery of nature is a sapphire we turn on.