Once when the river ran slow sunlight, makes stones look like gold,

I threw into the stream a silver engagement ring, among the gold

it looked trite like a poor cousin wearing leftover clothes.

I saw her kiss another man at a restaurant I could not afford to take her,

my misery was total and my disgrace deep.

How deluded I had been, she proffered gold to my silver.

I looked at my ring in the water it looked like a sliver of leftover moonlight

after the ancient gods, bacchanalia.

Forever I will not speak of this to her, a young man`s romantic heart.

The river is now a road, and the romance is dust on a pond,

 but in the evening glow you can, among the gravel, see a silvery shine

and my heart is glad.


◄ not of a cafe material

after rain ►


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