Pyrite in the sky

       Would that I could mine the sky
             I'd be a wealthy man.
          There's gold up there aplenty
             Enough for many a man.

          Once each day at evening
             Sun and cloud conspire,
          To spin in truest alchemy
             The metal of my desire.

          No want for pick and shovel
             Though a ladder I'd surely need
          To join the fiddler on the roof
              And satisfy my greed.

          Truly I am not the fool
             I may appear to be.
           No more could mine the sky
            Than could I make a tree.

          Yet–shall I be wealthy
              So long as there are these:
          Spacious skies and rainbows,
              Sunsets and trees.

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