For twenty years, the girl and then even now, a women,
Thought of her ring, as misplaced, playing in a sand box.
Remembers a trench she dung alone there, and then,
Thought to clean her fingers, setting her ring on a rock.

And then, the rain coming down as fast, and when,
Three days pasted, and raced back to the sand box.
Not finding the ring she had left there, as forgotten,
Of a blue stone, that of August, but still kept the ring box.

The ring box, also blue, with her initials on top, JHN,
The only thought of the lost ring, was to look on the rock.
But back then, someone else had seen her that noon, when,
A boy alone, saw the ring, and placed it under the rock.

After the three days of rain, the ring, a prank, now forgotten,
Less a thought, except didn’t like her playing in the sand box.
She had a funny name, he only knew her as Jacquelyn,
She only knew him, as the funny looking boy that collected rocks.

Their future now, together, husband and wife, and the rocks,
To far gone now, into the years, for he in his state, has forgotten.
She only remembers for him, he never remembers, collected in his boxes,
The rocks, each one different in size, shape and color, and even bought.

The one thing he would tell her, he sees something like a blue rock,
Not understanding what she might know, for what he had said.
She wished he only remembered the time he kneeled down, opened a box,
Proposed to her, each with a tear or two, but now nothing had been said.

And left there still unturned, the very rock that hid, the blue-like rock.

©2007, Ron Globe