Ring

In the snow where rings of promise
Fall from fingers frail
Words of winters bleak admonish;
Ripping through our sails

In the leaves of ashes weeping
Tears of golden dreams
As we lie, abashed and sleeping
Daring not to scream

With our words on pages blurring
Faded from the flares
Of the light of candles luring
Days to deadened stares

Cast upon a ring forgotten
Neath the leaves of loss
Once a dream as soft as cotton
Sullied under moss

Where the fingers, ever searching
Dirt and old debris
Left as little more than lurching
Bent as any tree

Watching with a pain appalling
And a tired tongue
Where again a ring is falling
With a song we never should have sung

© A. P. Christopher 2018


Image Credits: “Oak tree in the snow” by Diana Dabinett


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