The refuse of gold

I call it refuse,
and you call it gold.
You're happy to hear it,
I prefer it untold.

You tell me it's precious
a wisdom, a pearl!
To me, just as common
as acorn, a squirrel.

Scurrying rodents,
they're hopping around.
Common and ordinary
and hardly profound.

I guess they're quite cute
when the curl up their nose.
But hardly compare to
a wisdom, a rose.

I mine for the diamonds
so rare, of expense.
You marvel the acorns
by pound, a few pence.

My backyard a mountain
discarded of shell.
I'll burn it tomorrow
and send it to hell.

You tell me, "Don't do that!
It's precious and rare!"
My jaw hits the floor.
I gawk and I stare.

Am I quite snooty?
Do I look down my nose?
I can't understand
why you don't see the rose.

To me, it's such refuse
and piling too high.
You tell me its worth
is like earth and the sky.

Forget all this refuse.
I set it ablaze.
These shells of these acorns
they hardly amaze.

Diamonds and gold
so rare, of expense.
Marvel at acorns,
by pound, a few pence.

Am I quite snooty?
Afraid I'm a snob.
Pay money for acorns?
I think you've been robbed!

I'd certainly give you
all mine there for free.
But I'd rather be rid of
my old oaken tree.

It's branches so thick;
It's foliage so green.
The shade is so heavy;
the sun can't be seen!

I pulled out my chainsaw,
it quickly got trapped!
And the handle just splintered
when swung with my axe!

The squirrels they did gibber;
they laughed in the dark.
You told me, "Don't do that,
there's gold in that bark!"

I don't really think so.
It's old worthless wood.
I'd chop it all down.
And I wish that I could!

You see it's obscuring
that heavenly sky.
If the sun it could pierce it
you would not ask why.

There's something more precious
than acorns and squirrels.
Something more solid
than this trash you dub pearls.

Perhaps I'm quite snooty
or crazy or high.
I could be insane,
but there's gold in the sky!
I glimpsed it in winter
the light caught my eye.
Oh that we see it,
you would not ask why.