All that glitters is not gold
All that's golden does not shine
Some in quiet shadow waits
Some in patient darkness hides.

I wander far and my keen eyes
See far too many who are blind
Chasing after tinsel quick
Ignoring that which patient bides.

The blind man loves the golden sun
And knows the value of its heat
Yet he sees nothing by its light.
He tramples treasure with his feet.

I wander far and now I speak
To tell you what my keen eyes find,
All that glitters is not gold
All that's golden does not shine.

Penned by my hand on the 6th of Miraman, in the year 524 AF.