A Paperweight

There was a time upon my youth, When I was out to show of great, But years have passed and now in truth, I seem to be a paperweight. My job of pride and worthy self, I stood for what oneself could be, Which put me high upon the shelf, Reflecting light for all to see. As time would go, I gathered dust, And neighbored by a wooden plaque, Then on a desk, I soon was thrust, And stood upon a paper stack. So now I occupy my days, On envelopes and paper stock, A job for those without the praise, That could be handled by a rock. Now looking up, I can relate, Of you the shiny and the new. So don’t berate the paperweight, For there’s a chance you’ll be one too.