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The ring

The ring

A gift from the past, a promise of hope for the future.

Nothing striking in its look

a simple sliver knotted band

a yellow triangle cut citron stone sits high in the middle.

Passed from great grandmother, to grandmother, to mother, to oldest daughter

worn on the middle finger of my left hand

A gift from three generations of mothers.

I often wonder what kind of things that small simple ring has seen

It was given in love, worn in love, bound with love

eighty years of heartache and fears are bound up in its gleam

Three generations of strong women wore this ring

Three generations of unspoken dreams

Three generations of hope and love, handed down to me.

A reminder that perhaps those that came before me

Had the same hopes and dreams and suffered the same losses as I did

That just maybe while my road is long, I don't have to travel it alone

It's already been paved with three generations of love.

When the time comes for my own oldest to wear it

maybe it will light her way in her darkest hour.

and she will know how far a mother's love reaches

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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