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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.
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
hugs
sunmaiden
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