The Little Goldsmith

The ides of March
Have come but not gone
A year ago the poison left me
Because of the little goldsmith

Who wanted the best for me
She made me what I am
Just like a goldsmith moulds his wares
With a delicate touch and strong will

The mastercraftsman in her went to work
Purifying me to my bare spirits
To be or not to be was a question
But she never left my side

Now when her work is marvelled by others
Her masterpiece thinks of his creator
With a mighty heart and undying spirit
She set on her odyssey of moulding a gem

To pour out my hearts gratitude
What do I do to her
Live a life according to her core
Which was always a Herculean task for me

And so with a loving heart
I offer my little angel a small gift
My heart’s blood and soul’s prayer
Which would last as a monument of friendship