A Simile Of Children And Pearls

You are the granule of dirt

In the heart of my oyster,

Ever growing and causing irritation.

That pain will soon end

And you will be a pearl,

Strung together with others of your kind

And hung on women’s necks

To make them look richer than they really are.

Maybe you will become the keys

On a fancy musical instrument,

But that is statistically unlikely.

Somewhere the metaphor got lost,

But alas! You won’t follow suit.

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