Precious

I twist it slowly in my hand,
Small, but great,
Tiny, yet grand.
Bumpy then smooth.
It lies on the table, lifeless,
No meaning, no urge to move.
Inside, a story, memories to uphold.
Tales of beauty, a communion,
Only one year old.
It stayed motionless for months
Lying all alone.
Until I placed it in my palm,
Staring at its shimmering stone.
A violet light held captive, to stay evermore.
The dazzling gem is helpless,
Held tight by silver claws.
Images come flying back.
I realise what I see,
Just how much the silver buds
are greater than gold to me.