The Golden Ring
Written a little over a decade ago, this poem reveals my idealistic side and the belief that something must undergo the refiner's fire to bring out the best result that it can be.
An Old Man just merged as I crossed the way
With heavy loads he carried behind him.
And sang he loud at once he greeted me:
“Hello boy--you too in search of flame?”
“What flame Old man--can you make that point clear?
I was looking for Change though this young I was;
So I walked alone not minding fear
And my mother’s care and a pretty lass.”
“Keep your stand boy, one day you will understand
What you’re seeking for under the sun;
You can make great things with your little hands
Which excel even those the work of a man.”
“But Old Man you confused me even more;
Your words were disguised and its meaning--dull.
Perhaps you’re deceived by the Youth I wore
Take a rest you’re just tired or you would fall.”
“Sounds all right boy but I must hurry on!
My days are numbered and my time runs short;
There’s one last battle yet I to be won
But wait--take this one before I depart.”
“What is this Old Man--but a golden ring?”
“Take it little boy as a gift for free,
It’s time you’ll have that so a precious thing;
Keep it always in remembrance of me.”
“But Old Man please tell me how was this made?
Before you will leave but to face quagmire.”
“O boy these precious words you must pay heed:
That can’t be made without testing with fire.”