It was made from simple silver,

Not as flashy like the gold

An emerald sat upon it,

And by appearance…

It looked old.

To me it was so beautiful…

Though common to the eyes.

The trueness of its meaning,

Bore light in soft disguise.

You kept it hid so quietly,

So unbeknownst to me

By night you worked so diligently…

While I lay fast asleep.

The years have slipped by quietly,

But the ring it still remains

Handmade with all your passion…

The last thing that you made.

-Antony King  © 2016

 

 

 

 

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