I am the slow-sprinter
seldom sped to the embraces of men.
Many claim to have rushed to my fold
But I only journey to those who patiently await my call
Bent-backed, bald bishops I have often abandoned;
Yet sometimes an unsuspecting child is touched by me
Those who have me cannot easily bestow me in gift-giving;
But I am more precious than bulging barrows of red-gold.
If you know what I am, you are truly blessed!