Only the size of a ten-penny piece,
You have often brought many a smile.
A smooth glide of curves that makes a face
On an item that often grows wild.

The silence of time built in every inch,
With the patina of satin on silk –
A tinge of perfume from an owner’s skin,
And the harsh taste of metal and salt.

You nestle inside a small, padded box,
To be brought to the light now and then.
The sweat of a goldsmith in every curve –
A gift to his wife, you have been.

A sweet-smelling rose you still represent –
An object of loss you are now.

Written 27/12/2005. Published in, 2013.

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