Ring
It could just be love, but there is something
that tells me it's more than just a diamond ring.
She cries, Dear Lord, please tell me this is right.
I need to know before I wear the ring.
Her answer settles on her palms like dew.
And only she will know the peace it brings.
Soft hands once nervously held, now lift in
jubilant adoration for the ring.
She feels more like Shakespeare's Juliet, but
this is real. Shakespeare never gave a ring.
She has honor now. Like a peasant that's
been dubbed a knight, she accepted the ring.
She'll wear it like armor to keep her safe
from men wishing she never had the thing.
Some say love will die slow just like the sun,
though I'd sure like to know what sun they're seeing.
It shows no signs of dimming, or falling
from the sky. Every day it's still shining.
She says Moll is a fine last name. It fits
her well, like her finger fits the diamond ring.
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Ghazal.
A Ghazal turns on a single rhyme, aa ba ca da.... It can be any number of syllables or metrical feet, but all line lengths should be the same.
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-Ghazal-
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