I often thought of these very words as I looked into Zozo's eyes over all the seasons and all the years. Those eyes of hers were the most precious jewels in the world to me, and no amount of money matched their value.
And in his eyes the light from the mines
One minute flickering, steady the next,
Lulled to a glow or blown to a blaze,
But always the light that was locked in the stone
Before his time and ours: at best semi-precious
All stones of that kind yet, if not precious,
Are more than stones, beautiful objects
But more than objects. While there is light in them.
Thanks, everyone, for your kind messages and words of support. They truly help, and I am so grateful to you.
I finally found the full text of Death of a Cat here.