In a sprawling field of golden hay,
A lone needle chose to lay.
Hidden deep, so sleek and thin,
Its silver gleam lost within.
The world sees just a towering stack,
Oblivious to the needle in the haystack.
But treasures often lie unseen,
In places vast, in spaces between.
Whispers of its presence, tales so old,
Of gleaming metal 'midst the gold.
Seekers come, and seekers go,
In search of it, their hopes to stow.
