I am coveted for my perceived powers
Powers not rising from greatness
But born from the curse of my own deformity
I am but one, standing among thousands
Of three, there are many, but my fourth betrays me
I am plucked, the roots of my soul ripping from the earth
I am treasured, my shell tucked away or discarded in the wind
With the luck that I bear, I cannot save myself
From withering and crumbling to nothing
-K.R.Rowe