A rhyming storoem about a wedding band.

The funeral director asked the new
widow, “Would you like his wedding ring
removed after the service is through?”
She nodded no, as tears made her eyes sting.

“I prefer he keep it, for it hasn’t left
his finger ever since our wedding day.
He wore it at Normandy, a day bereft
of joy, except our love helped him to stay.

“Gravely wounded as he struggled ashore,
he said later his life was ebbing away
when seeing his ring strengthened him more.
He claimed our love kept him alive that day.

“He returned; together we bought a farm.
Through the years we raised crops and kids –
four fine sons whom we kept safe from harm.
Our love carried us times our luck hit the skids.

“Farming is hard; you’re at the mercy of weather,
disease, and pests. Days are full of hard work.
But, we survived life’s hardships together.
He always claimed our love was life’s best perk.

“You know, that ring once had an inscription
and orange blossoms engraved on the outside.
It’s now worn smooth, a perfect depiction
of how our love endured, ‘tho tested and tried.

“All the knocks and dings weathered the surface,
but the core remained intact and still strong.
So with our love; through all it did persist.
Let him keep his ring. Removing it’d seem wrong.”