Thin with the years, bent and twisted
Like her hands, worn from long work.
This ring has seen hard days.
She always wore it, his symbol of love,
Scrubbing floors, hoarding scraps
Making do and mending.
Later still, her children
Then grandchildren tested it with toothless gums.
On special days it polished up a treat.
Eyeless tiny sockets mark
Where the pinprick diamonds once were set,
Treasures lost in a thousand soapy sinks.
Time passes and she has gone.
I hold her age-marked hands in my mind
And her ring is warm in the palm of my hand.
