Ah, I used to live in the ground as random ores and petroleum. Nah. This is why chemists don't do poetry.
Let the chemists and the engineers tweak this.
The Lay of the Aluminum Tree
After millennia of frozen sleep,
wrested forth, shattered, gloriously flowing in ruddy streams,
cupped, rolled, formed, tweaked,
adorned for a few weeks, festive in the glittering sunlight and caressing houselights,
cast in a carton to brood for long months
before being welcomed once more into the heart of the family,
glad in their gladness,
dreading the long darkness to come.