INFIDELS GRATUS

In the quiet hum of the wheel’s slow turn,
A gemstone’s heart begins to learn,
The dance of angles, precise and bright,
To catch and scatter the secret light.

A rough-hewn stone, in shadowed sleep,
Holds colors deep, and secrets keep,
But under the lapidary’s hand,
Its hidden fire meets the planned.

The dop aligns, the wax holds fast,
As the gem’s rough edges meet their last,
Each facet cut, with care and grace,
Reveals the soul within its face.

A tilt, a grind, a patient score,
Brings forth the brilliance from its core,
In rainbows flashed, in sunlight’s play,
A thousand colors in array.

Each facet speaks, a note, a chord,
In the silent song the gem has stored,
And when it’s done, the stone ignites,
A beacon of eternal lights.

So delicate, the angles trace,
The journey of the gem’s embrace,
From nature’s hand to artist’s dream,
A faceted world in radiant gleam.

For in each cut, in every line,
A story told, a craft divine,
Of patience, skill, and endless night,
To turn a stone to living light.