The ring was going to rust but by that time
He could afford, maybe, a gold one
The future was hazy and grey, but with her
He saw magenta, emeralds, and pink diamonds
Promised glass shoes that never shattered
Saintly happiness, a house with silk cream curtains
 
He failed his G.E.D. and his father dropped
The derelict farm over his head like a hammer
Smilingly, his mother cried for the impossible life
Finally, the girl passed her hand over his cheek
He bought the ring, then later gave it to his mother
The sentimental one who now felt like a new bride

— Judith Croxford