It is round, but it does not bounce.
It is hard, but it does not hurt.
It is cold, but warms my heart.
It is cheap, but dear.
It is pale as moonlight, not golden like the sun.
It goes forever.
It has two eyes, but one is broken. Its eyes are lavender or, in guy colors, they are light purple.
Though it is not alive, it sailed on a ship with my great-great-great-grandmother, crossing the ocean with her. As far as I know, there is not another like it in the whole country. But there is one in this room.
It circles my memory with love and my finger with silver.
I am wearing it today.
What Folks are Writing