A Shadorma (3-5-3-3-7-5), offered up for this week’s P/SU Weekly Scribble, where Rosemary asks us to indulge ourselves in a bit of realism, capturing something as it is in such a way that the reader sees something bigger.
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Bondage
She was gone.
He still wore the ring.
Gold. Golden.
But better.
Even after all these years
more than just a ring.
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Poets and Storytellers United
Weekly Scribble #89
~ Keeping It Real ~
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Scrambled, Not Fried 
Intriguing!
I was thinking she had died. But tgen i am interpreting lines 5 and 6 to mean . Whereever she is she is still wearing her ring.
Nice one
Much💖love
What a beautiful poem, Ron. It leaves us with the question did she die or just leave…but no matter, we’re left with what the ring means to him, and that’s the touching realism of the poem.
It looks like she’s gone for good, even if death wasn’t the cause.
My mother still wears her wedding ring, but she moved it to her right hand after my father died.
I lost my first wedding ring in the lake. It didn’t bother me, I took it as an omen assuring me that our love was lost. I verified this, though I don’t tell the details.
..
Ron, I have one of those rings. I slip on every now and then, sit and reflect on those years, get up and return the ring to its rightful place. (Saving the diamonds for my Granddaughter.)