The Ring.

It calls my name, and bids me hear

The whispers of my past.

And speaks to me of memories

Wherein the shadows, lay.


I see a meadow brushed with sun,

wild flowers painted in.

A little girl, with friends, are there.

Buttercups held within small hands,

And daisies in their hair.

And on her wrist a bracelet,

A cheap and childish thing

Yet held upon it, flowers

Which match the meadow gay.


I stopped and took a second look,

What bid those memories in?

And saw the flowers my bracelet held

Upon the circle of a ring.







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Sunmaiden's picture

This is beautiful, sounds

This is beautiful, sounds like something I could write.  Keep up the good work, you give me inspiration to write more and more




sweetwater's picture

What a lovely thing to say,

What a lovely thing to say, thank you so much.Your poems inspire me, how you write such detailed and clever 

poetry I'll never know, its amazing. :-) X