A woman came out of a jewellery shop,
Wearing a ring on the finger of her right.
The diamond on it sparkeled, dazzeled, frazzeled,
Blinking back into the dark night.
The ruby on it, gosh what a red,
As red as substance like mud.
Dark and vivid, shiny like an apple,
But the color was the color of blood.
As she entered her house, and opened the door,
the welcoming spilling outside,
Went to her bed, and instantly said,
"I'll sleep, until the sunrise."
The next morning, the welcoming woman,
Looked at the finger on her right.
The ring was still there, but the strangest of all,
It wasn't as dark as last night.
The color, much paler, looking so much frailer,
The color was more of a pink,
But the substance that was spilling of of the ruby,
Was blood. Weird, don't you think?
By evening the ruby was a very frail shade,
Lighter and lighter at all.
Her white dress she wore, was dripping with blood,
Let the blood on the ruby fall.
Next moring, the ruby, wasn't a ruby, but as silver and sleek as a diamond.
It was dripping and dripping with blood.
Like the white on her face, she drew her last breath,
Like the diamond, blood was her fate.
