Those lurid trinkets,
The obvious fakes in the treasure box,
They shimmer and shine,
Glow and sparkle,
While holding no conceivable value.
A formidable array of garish colours,
Supplied by market stalls, vending machines,
Weightless, tasteless, worthless,
A waste of time and plastic.
A child sees them and smiles,
Her innocence neither knows nor cares,
What gems are made of.