Returned Bounty

The tick tocking of my fastened heart runs against the jealous seasons. they blow their hot and cold reminders, but my eyes are busy elsewhere, rummaging through creative sediment. Sifting like a sturdy miner. my pants fray against the search for creative gold. In my shift's end, I'm parched in a ragged bent, But in my hands, my priced possession Returned to it's rightful owner.