Without a box
But in a suitcase
Wrapped in bubblewrap
And hid
Theres a ring
Of little value
From a past life
A closed lid.
As years advance
Time runs out
Now alone
A widows voice
That never speaks
Of a boy she knew
With sparkling eyes
When love was new.
Sometimes in dream
She feels his touch
A melancholy
Of dreamy lust
But she awakens
To her day
Her husband gone
But words they stay.