Hardest of all, I etch every stone,
I scratch all things—except maybe my own.
Clear as a tear or tinted with hue,
Priced for my fire and how flawless I view.
What am I?
diamond
In geodes’ vaults I grow in rest,
Quartz in royal violet dress.
Said to foil the tipsy wine,
February’s stone—clear head, clear sign.
What am I?
amethyst
Chalk-white bones with spidered veins.
Dipped in blue, I change my name—
Turquoise’s look for fewer coins’ pains.
What am I?
Dyed howlite
Blushing glass of Earth’s own art,
Cloudy pink that calms the heart—
What am I?
Rose quartz
Ember-deep, I band with iron’s crust,
Born when life’s first breath turned oceans to rust—
Name the stone that records that ancient event.
What am I?
Red jasper in banded iron formations
Deep blue stone with snowy threads,
By day I calm, in statues I’m wed.
But under blacklight I blaze, orange-bright—
Name me, carver’s friend who glows at night.
What am I?
Sodalite
Rose-hued stone with ink-black seams,
Manganese marbles my rosy dreams.
Cab and carving show my shine—
Name this “rose” by Greek design.
What am I?
Rhodonite
Two suns of November gleam side by side—
One quartz heat-kissed to a honey tide,
One harder cousin with imperial fame—
Mistaken by eye, but not by name.
What are we?
Citrine and topaz
