Saturday, January 16, 2010

A poem from The Love Machine

The Iron Ring

Horseshoe nail, curled in a band
made for the miller's daughter's hand.
She wed the blacksmith's eldest boy,
short years to live in wedded joy.

The King's war came and cut them down
In fields I lay, specked rusty brown.
Until a child playing there
spied me, took me, found me fair.

She cleansed me, kept me with her toys
till she chose a lover from the boys.
Shining, from her son's hand I slide
onto the finger of his bride.

Dark metal band of work and earth
remember fire, that gave me birth.



One of the few rhymed poems I've written. Part of a set.

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