My Crystal

My shimmering glorious crystal,
Impaled with a splash of rustic brown,
Sends a rugged sensation through your fingertips,
As it is shaped rough and round.

Though to murky to see through,
It still maintains its beauty,
With small hexagons spiralling out of its sides,
It seems like it grows every day.

Sitting on my shelf coated in still dust,
A star in a bare black sky,
Hardly visible behind all of my junk,
It shines as bright as anything in the evening sun.

I recovered this mineral from Broken Hill,
Embedded in gravel and rocks,
It stood out like a torch in a dark tunnel,
I immediately fell to my knees.

I wonder how it was generated,
Under the dust for years,
Not as valuable as diamond,
But still precious to me.