with this ring

i used to give

rings out, like candy.

which they were.

fat diamonds

sitting on a gold

or silver

band.

oh, the houses i painted to

pay

for them.

the wallpaper i pasted

onto walls,

the grind of days on

end

in the weather for a few

dollars to pay

for new love.

up and down tall ladders.

onto rooftops.

but oh these rings,

when cupid struck his arrow

into my heart again,

in a little velvet box they

came on

a bed of silk, gleaming from

the jeweler's 

cloth.

then slipped onto a finger

with the promise

of love ever after.

till death do us part.

in sickness and in health.

i wonder where they are now.

in a drawer,

a shoe box, a plastic bag

with other rings, 

or pawned

perhaps. lost, or stolen.

when love ends, do they

ever come

back?  

are they returned, 

these precious,

expensive gifts of love?

i smile and shake my head,

i laugh.

i buy a ball of string,

to make my next, if there is

to be one,

pffft,

the wedding ring.