The Ring

I remember the day the white gold and diamond ring was given to me

When it was given , the true meaning they did not see

The ring was a symbol of my forefather's sin

It was the ring that once broke my grandfather's skin

I never wore that ring

I tucked it away in a box

Then looked apon it every now and then

It held a special memory of the cycle that was broken not to repeat again

It served as a reminder of my forefather's fear and shame

As I looked upon it, I made a promise that my children would never feel the same.

© Angela Bredeson