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.
87/11/21
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One of the few rhymed poems I've written. Part of a set.
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