They sit alone in a box
Hidden in a trunk, forgotten.
They represent a love from long ago
The young mother died giving birth,
Leaving three young sons to be raised alone by their dad
The ring sat in a box, forgotten.
The young girl asked her dad who they belonged to
He tells her, "my mom," who he doesn't remember
The ring sat in a box, forgotten
Waiting to be warn; waiting to be loved.
The young girl asked her mom who they belonged to
She said, "your great-grandmother"
"She died very young and left three very small sons"
The girl asked if she could wear it
She was told her great-grandmother would be pleased
It sparkled on her finger; it felt warm and alive
Three generations, it felt loved; it belonged.
YOU ARE READING
Wedding Rings
PoetryThe story of a wedding band that was passed down three generations.
